It was just one of those days. She was feeling very pregnant, very tired, very fat and ugly, and just out of sorts in general. Maybe it was the heat. Yes, she told herself that was it.......the heat.
She had been up before the first rays of dawn had began lighting the plains. She had much to do, and to be very honest, she had not been sleeping well. There were just some nights when she couldn't get comfortable, no matter how she lay. The morning meal had been a disaster. Tug suddenly didn't like vulo eggs anymore, and while she was trying to cajole him into eating, the baby had crawled over, pulled up on the wheel of the wagon, promptly fell and opened a gash on his head and began to scream as if someone was killing him. As she was trying to staunch the flow of blood, Tug had promptly stood up and dumped his plate into the sleen pen for the pups and stalked off saying that he was going to find Birrmah, she would fix him a breakfast fit for a man! Immediately she had tried to go catch him, but she just was not moving very fast, being heavy with child, and having another child on her hip, bleeding all over everything, so she let him go, and would deal with him later.
And at this moment, the girls had come wandering up from the stream carrying water buckets whispering and giggling. She shot them a glare, demanding to know why they were lolly gagging around, when there was work to do. They both stopped dead still in their tracks. Never once had she ever raised her voice to either of them, and it was more than a shock to hear her do so this morning. She was ranting about lazy, worthless slaves that needed their throats slit. Eyes wide, kasra looked to juneau, and they both moved to dump their buckets into the water barrel, hoping that if they were very,very quiet, the crazy woman would calm down.
She finally got the baby settled down, the bleeding stopped, and put him to her breast. Closing her eyes, she let out a slow sigh, trying to regain her senses, when something happened. He bit her! She pried his mouth away from her nipple, rubbing it, then looking to see if there was blood, which there was not...........thankfully! "Ok, I think it is time you learned to drink from a cup, little man." And thus the battle began to try and get him to take the verr milk from a cup.........unsuccessfully. The brave one, juneau, had approached holding her arms out for the baby, whispering. "Let me try, Mistress" Kasra was on her heels, holding out a mug of tea, hoping that might calm the woman.
Near tears, she relinquished the baby, pushed the cup of tea away, and struggled to her feet, which was becoming a chore in itself. Taking the basket of laundry up on her hip, she stalked off towards the stream, oblivious to the commotion she had left at the wagon. People called greetings to her as she passed, but she ignored them. Right now, she was just not in the mood for exchanging pleasantries with anyone.
Even at the stream, she chose a place well away from the other women and slaves that were there dong laundry. She was just not in the mood to socialize. Sorting out the laundry, a whiff of something caught her attention. Lifting one of Ba'atar's vest to her face, she sniffed. Was that perfume, or scented oil of some kind? She must have looked very odd, lifting each article of clothing to smell it. In a rage, she doused the offending vest into teh water and began to scrub it on a rock with a vengeance. At the rate she was going, all of his clothing would have holes scrubbed in them, but there would be no scent of another woman on them, that was for damn sure. She was totally unaware of the eyes of the other women that were on her, and of their whispering back and forth that there was evidently trouble at those wagons.
Part of her wanted to throw all of the clothing into the stream, and watch them float away with great satisfaction, but the saner part of her stopped her from doing that. The saner part of her did the laundry with the same attention to details that she usually employed. That is not to say that she did not cry. Tears fell freely, tears of anger, tears of loss, tears of confusion. Batting them away with the backs of her hands, she just did not understand it. She had never felt this out of control before. Tossing the last of the laundered clothes into the basket, she just plopped down on the bank of the stream, stared at the water and cried. When she was all cried out, she again struggled to her feet, picked up the basket of wet clothing, which weighed more now, and walked off towards her wagons, again not stopping to speak to anyone. Now, she was aware of the whispered conversations that went on as she passed, but tried to block them out of her mind, which was not easy.
At her wagons, she hung all the laundry up on lines to dry, put on a roast over the spit for dinner, not really sure who was going to be there for dinner. Rook had been scarce the last couple of days, Ba'atar was off hunting, and she was not hungry, but still she cooked. It was what was expected of her, was it not? She had tidied up around the wagon, making sure the furs were plumped, that his bota's were filled with fresh water, should he return tonight. Rivulets of perspiration ran out of every possible pore on her body, but still she worked, trying to keep her mind off of things that were trying to steal in around the edges. She worked until she had actually stumbled, fell to her knees in exhaustion.......physical and mental. Closing her eyes, hands moved to caress the swell of her belly. She felt the strong hands lift her up, and urge her towards her wagon. Rook was very adamant. "Rest, you will rest and not come out of that wagon for the rest of the day." She wanted to fight him, to tell him that she was fine, and would be fine, but she just did not have the energy left to do so.
In the cool, darkness of her wagon, she undressed, poured some water into a basin and used a cloth to wash the sweat from her body, to cool it. Naked, she had looked down at her distended abdomen, and for the first time, she did not find it beautiful. To her it looked ugly, swollen, the veins just under the flesh roping around like hith that were trying to strangle her. Sighing, she moved to Ba'atar's chest, seeking to find one of his tunics to put on. Lifting the tunic from the chest, she closed it, and something caught her eye.
Standing there in the corner was his quiver of hunting arrows. The ones he always took with him when he hunted. How did a man hunt without his arrows? Running her fingers over the fletching of one of the arrows, that saner part of her took wing and flew out of the wagon, to be replaced by the voice of doubt whispering into her ear. "That is because he is not hunting. It is because he has tired of you, and seeks to spend his time with....her. The woman that left her scent on his vest. You are fat and ugly, why would he not seek the company of one that is still slim, sensual, appealing." Clutching the tunic in one arm, she reached to pick up the quiver, holding it close to her swollen body, and lay down on the furs and cried. Great, gulping sobs of someone that was miserable. Someone that was completely at a loss at what to do next. After a time, the sobs subsided as she fell into a deep sleep, that was haunted by dreams of Ba'atar and some faceless woman laughing at her, making fun of her, calling her a fool.
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