It was lonely around her wagons. Now, that is not to say there was not activity, just that it was lonely. She stayed busy with the boys, helping Another One learn to walk, practicing the bola with Tug. After considering it for a time, she sat with Tug and told him the tale about beating his father with the bola. Those dark eyes had turned up to her, for she actually rarely spoke of Tayco, and really, there was no reason not to.
He had asked for more details. Did his father allow her to win because she was a woman? This had made her laugh, and she explained to him that Tayco was not the type of man to "let you win". But she went on to explain that it was a contest where they were trying to capture a slave, and maybe his father had been distracted by how she moved, and this might have had some bearing on it. The little brow furrowed, then he looked up at her and asked if his Father had liked slaves? Now, how exactly do you explain that. Laughing, she told her son, that his father was a very handsome and charming man, and he enjoyed the company of women a great deal, free and slave. Well now, this gave him something to think on. After a time he had looked up at her, and the smile he gave her made her breath catch in her throat, and her heart to skip a beat. It was pure Tayco. He then proclaimed that when he was a man, he would have many slaves and the prettiest mate in the whole harigga. Leaning down, she gave him a kiss to the top of his head, telling him she had no doubts that he would. And, as he did of late, he grunted at the kiss, but allowed it.
She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he thought. Looking up at her he asked if they had wagered, and she nodded, and explained to him that is how she had gotten the colt Luck. That was the price of the wager. And there it was again, that smile, as he proclaimed. You did well mother. Chuckling she told him yes, that she had been very fortunate that night. Dorian had arrived to take him hunting, and he jumped to his feet in excitement and ran towards his uncle. Stopping in his tracks, he had run back, hugged her tightly and told her thank you for telling him a story of his father. She assured him, that anytime he wanted to know more, all he had to do was ask.
For a time she sat there lost in her memories. Memories that were painful in some ways, but very beautiful in other ways. He had been her first love, and still held a place in her heart. And idea came to her, and she crawled up inside her wagon, dug in a chest and found a blank journal that she had been saving. For the rest of the afternoon, she wrote these memories out for their son. The good things, and the not so good ones. All of them were part of Tayco, and things that Tug needed to know about his father. Someday, she would teach her sons to read, just as her mother had taught her. And when he learned, he would have these stories of his father. Stories that would help him to know the man better.
As she wrote, there were tears, and there was laughter. It was if a floodgate of memories had been unleashed, and she just could not write fast enough to put them all down to rence. Taking a break to rest her hand and her eyes, she sat back remembering what Fonce had told her one. He had cautioned to not let Tug grow up chasing a shadow. Perhaps these memories that she put down into words, would someday help their son to know that his father was loving, funny, brave and honorable. That he was a real man. More than the songs that the singers sang.
Laughing softly, she remembered the night of the bola. It was that irritating dweller slave that started it all in a way. The one that liked to pretend she was Tuchuk. They had taken her from the arena, and somehow a wager was made as to who could capture her with a bola. Perhaps it was that Tayco was more intent on the movement of her arse than the movement of her legs that had let his throws fall short. And maybe it was the fact she truly despised the slave, that had made her bola fall true. Or maybe it was a mixture of the two. But in the end, she had won the foal Luck as her own, and he had sent the slave back to the dwellers, disgusted. Later on, she would tease him that the only reason he mated her was to get the foal back. They shared many laughs over that night.
She wrote about the morning, when she was pregnant with Tug, that she awoke to find Tayco squatting by the brazier in their wagon, carefully brewing the tea that helped her to keep food down. He did not have to do that, but it was one of those little things that he did, that showed his love for her. Each and every memory she had of him was as precious as one of those jewels the dwellers thought so highly of, and more valuable.
Closing the book, she stepped out of the wagon and walked down the row to the wagon that she was saving for Tug. Stepping up inside, she opened the flaps to allow fresh air and light in. Kneeling beside the wooden chest, she opened it, fingers running over the surface of the small box that held some of his ashes, then over the quiva that she saved for their son. She even picked up one of the old, worn leather tunics, brought it to her face and inhaled. Funny. Did his scent still linger, or was it just another memory.
Carefully, she tucked the book into the chest and closed it, whispering. "There you go my love. I am writing about you for you son, so that he will know you as I did."
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