With a mate, three sons, two slaves, Rook, Gabe and herself, she found that her days were quite full, and for some odd reason, that made her happy. If you would pass by their wagons, you would often hear her humming or singing softy as she worked.
After the great honey escapade, their work was not nearly over. Each crock and jar was inspected, thoroughly washed in hot water and soap weed, then filled with boiling water again, to let set until it cooled, then they were emptied and set on a shelf to await filling. Cloths were also washed, boiled and dried then draped across the openings to the jars. They then dumped the raw honey into a cauldron and it was set beside the fire to heat. This was a precarious move. She wanted the honey to be warm so that it flowed easier, but she did not want it to boil and turn sugary, nor did she want the comb to melt.
When it was at just the right temperature, they carefully ladled it onto the cloths to strain any debris or impurities out of it, so that only the clear, golden honey would drip down into the jars. Taking the comb, she had taken daggers that Rook had sharpened to a fine edge, and very carefully shaved the outer layer of wax off into a pot, drained the honey from the tiny chambers into the cauldron to be heated. Part of the remaining comb was put into one pot to be heated, and part of the comb was set aside.
When all of the precious liquid had drained into the crocks, she of part of the comb and tried to get a bit into every pot. Personally, she liked chewing on the waxy comb, especially when the honey had seeped back into the chambers. When all the jars were filled, lids had been cleaned and boiled, then she wiped around the neck of each jar and placed the lid on it. The comb that had been reserved, was melted and she used a brush made from shortened pieces of the hair from a kailla's tail to paint around the edges where the lids met the jars to seal them.
It was time consuming work, but well worth it. In the end, she had row after row of jars of honey. The girls put them up in one of the wagons for storage, and she set aside several for Fonce when he returned, knowing his fondness for the golden nectar.
She did not allow Ba'atar's new slave anywhere near the process, still not trusting her. As of yet, she had not spoken to the woman, and simply referred to her as........It. As in, juneau, take it to the stream to help you carry water, or......don't let the boys get too close to it. Her brow had arched slightly seen how he had the beast trussed up with the knotted rope between her legs, but had said nothing.
And a smile did lift at one corner of her mouth when she had caught a glimpse of them carrying water up from the screen. When the creature did not seem to be walking fast enough, juneau would put down the buckets she was carrying and lay the switch to it's naked bottom. But this was not truly done out of any malice or mean spiritedness. It was done out of self-preservation on juneau's part. Ba'atar had assigned her the switch, and told her if his slave did not work hard enough or fast enough, it would be juneau that would be punished. Thus, the switch.
Aamon had been around for most of the processing of the honey, taking it all in with a curiosity and amusement that she found a bit funny. Several jars of the liquid were carried to his wagons, as he had helped with the gathering, and he seemed very pleased by this. He also seemed to have a fondness for the honey cakes that she had baked, and showed even more curiosity about her clay oven. She explained to him, that she was working on bricks to make one for Birmmah and his wagons. When he asked why? She told him because she wanted to. There was a small quirk of his brow, and a nod, and he said...You are a good daughter. Those simple words filled her heart with more happiness than he could ever know.
Yes, her life was good, and she was a happy woman.
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