She wished they would just stop watching her. In her heart, she knew it was concern in their gazes, but at the moment she felt like some sort of insect that they were all watching, to see if it would finally go into its' death dance. And the next person to ask her if she was hungry, might just end up with a large sized knot on the side of their head.
She had wandered around the confines of that small group of wagons that was now hers alone, thinking on many things. Finally she had taken up refuge on the platform of one of them that was distanced from the cooking fires where everyone had gathered. She was sitting there with her blackwine, staring up at the stars, thinking, when Ba'atar stepped up near her. Thankfully, he did not offer the general platitudes that she had been hearing the past couple of days, and for that she was thankful. In fact, he asked for food. She had been more than happy to get it for him. It gave her something to do.
In all honesty, she had been feeling a little sorry for herself, which could be expected in some ways. But in speaking with him, she realized how truly blessed she was. Yes, she was young, and was about to stand at the pyre of a mate for the second time in her short life, but, had not both men left her life enriched by love and experience? Did she not have a beautiful son, and another child on the way? Yes she was sad, her heart was breaking, and the pain of all of it was almost a living beast eating at her soul, but through this simple conversation with the singer, she was beginning to feel that her life was not over, just one chapter of it coming to a close, with another waiting to be written.
They had finally spoke of the pyre, and she asked him for a song for Loch. He told her that he would be honored to do that for the warrior and his family, and mentioned that he would need to work on his drum. It was almost like a bolt from the skies. She had looked at him, brow raised and asked if he played the drum, which he admitted to playing a little. Jumping up she had gone into the wagon and returned with Lochley's drum.
Sitting back down beside him, she unwrapped it and held it out to him, explaining the importance of it. Of how it had belonged to Loch's father, and how Tarra had brought it back from the jungles on her last trip, and of how she had it repaired and had plans to give it to Loch. Plans that never came to fruition.
Right now, in her mind, there would be nothing more fitting than for Lochlan to be sent on his final ride to the beat of his fathers drum. At first, the singer was a bit reticent, fearing the wrath of the spex. But she felt that Tarra would feel the same way. He accepted the drum, would play it then return it. At that point, she would put it away, to be given to her unborn child as a memory not only of its' father, but its grandfather. To her, it seemed right.
By the time he left, she was feeling better. The man had an odd sense of humor, a brashness about him. And he had made her eat. Wily Tuchuk that he was.
Lifting to her feet, she had gone to her wagon and managed to sleep, and this time, there were no dreams, only peace. She rested for the first time in several nights.
She had wandered around the confines of that small group of wagons that was now hers alone, thinking on many things. Finally she had taken up refuge on the platform of one of them that was distanced from the cooking fires where everyone had gathered. She was sitting there with her blackwine, staring up at the stars, thinking, when Ba'atar stepped up near her. Thankfully, he did not offer the general platitudes that she had been hearing the past couple of days, and for that she was thankful. In fact, he asked for food. She had been more than happy to get it for him. It gave her something to do.
In all honesty, she had been feeling a little sorry for herself, which could be expected in some ways. But in speaking with him, she realized how truly blessed she was. Yes, she was young, and was about to stand at the pyre of a mate for the second time in her short life, but, had not both men left her life enriched by love and experience? Did she not have a beautiful son, and another child on the way? Yes she was sad, her heart was breaking, and the pain of all of it was almost a living beast eating at her soul, but through this simple conversation with the singer, she was beginning to feel that her life was not over, just one chapter of it coming to a close, with another waiting to be written.
They had finally spoke of the pyre, and she asked him for a song for Loch. He told her that he would be honored to do that for the warrior and his family, and mentioned that he would need to work on his drum. It was almost like a bolt from the skies. She had looked at him, brow raised and asked if he played the drum, which he admitted to playing a little. Jumping up she had gone into the wagon and returned with Lochley's drum.
Sitting back down beside him, she unwrapped it and held it out to him, explaining the importance of it. Of how it had belonged to Loch's father, and how Tarra had brought it back from the jungles on her last trip, and of how she had it repaired and had plans to give it to Loch. Plans that never came to fruition.
Right now, in her mind, there would be nothing more fitting than for Lochlan to be sent on his final ride to the beat of his fathers drum. At first, the singer was a bit reticent, fearing the wrath of the spex. But she felt that Tarra would feel the same way. He accepted the drum, would play it then return it. At that point, she would put it away, to be given to her unborn child as a memory not only of its' father, but its grandfather. To her, it seemed right.
By the time he left, she was feeling better. The man had an odd sense of humor, a brashness about him. And he had made her eat. Wily Tuchuk that he was.
Lifting to her feet, she had gone to her wagon and managed to sleep, and this time, there were no dreams, only peace. She rested for the first time in several nights.
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