To Succor the Soul

Ba'atar had stepped between the flaps of the wagon and she cannot remember him looking so sad. He came to sit down with her where she was feeding one of the girls, and told her that he had just returned from the plains, and that there had been an attack and Garyx was mortally wounded. Her stomach had immediately clenched with fear, sorrow and even some anger mixed in there with it all. His arms wrapped around her and he whispered against her temple, asking if she was going to be alright. At the moment, all she could do was nod her head against he caress of his lips. He knew her, and knew her strength, but she could sense that he was still loathe to leave her for patrol, but she assured him that she would be fine.



After he left, she finished feeding the babies and got them settled for the night. Draping a fur around her shoulders against the chill of the night air, she stepped out onto the platform and sat down. Almost as if he knew her better than herself, Rook was soon there with mugs of tea for them both. As he lowered down beside her with a deep sigh, she said nothing. No words were needed.



They sat there in silence, both of them probably traveling along the path of their memories to losses they had suffered. She knew the anguish that Tarra was feeling, she had felt it before, just as Tarra had. This is not the first mate that the woman had lost, but she had watched the two of them together, and knew that Tarra would be feeling this very deeply. They had just meshed so beautifully, and she and Lochlan had often talked about their mutual respect for the man, for the simple fact that he seemed to understand the woman and what she needed. He had been good for Tarra, and her for him. Quiet tears flowed down her face as she thought on what the woman was going through now, and what she would go through over the next few days and the coming moons and turnings.



Draining her tea, she sat the mug aside and tilted her head back to look at the sky and the multitude of stars that were a constant in her world and her life. Was there a new star there tonight? In her mind, yes there was. In her mind, each twinkling light represented one that had gone before them. One that had been chosen by the Sky to keep her company.



Gathering her resolve, she shrugged off the fur and spoke softly to Rook, telling him that she would return. Waking one of the girls, they put together a basket of bread and cheeses, tucking some blackwine beans in with it, and a jar of honey. Taking the pot of stew that was warming on the stones by the fire, she covered it and took the basket from twist. This laden, she set off towards the wagons of Tarra.



This was a thing of women. Food. When there was a birth, they took food, an illness, more food. A death, well food of course. Perhaps they felt deep inside that to nourish the body, also in some way offered succor to the soul. As she walked along, she thought of how many times that all she had to offer someone was stew and understanding. And sometimes, that was all they needed. They needed to know that someone was there and they were not alone.



As she approached the wagons, she saw Ulrich and stopped to speak to him, asking in her quiet way how Tarra was doing. As they spoke, an older man approached them, one that she knew to be of the haruspex clan. Giving him a respectful nod, she said simply that she had brought food. It was an odd look that he gave her as he took the bail of the pot in his long fingers, then a hint of a smile lifted on his lips. His hand reached out to touch her forehead for a moment, and he told her that she had brought much more than stew, and that her gift was an answer to something he was seeking. Stew was something a spex would be seeking? This puzzled her, but she did no more than nod.



When the man walked off, she watched him stop, lift the lid and ladle some into a bowl and sprinkle what she figured was more spice into it. How dare he season her stew again without tasting it. Ulrich looked to her and shrugged. She told him to tell Tarra, Hallie and Arkus that she had been there, and if they needed her, they knew where to find her. With that, she turned and walked back to her wagons, still a bit set off by the man seasoning her stew.

LIttle Fonce and Ba'atar

A few days passed and she was sitting at the fires talking babies with Kaeli. They had just been so blessed by the birth of so many strong, healthy, beautiful Tuchuk babies, that it was hard not to talk about them with a bit of wonder.



During the conversation, along comes Ba'atar to join them. He asks for his second daughter and she picks her up and lays her in his arms. It was very evident that he had a favorite between the two, but that was okay, maybe she did too. Not that she loved one more or less, nothing of that nature, just a tiny more pull to one. She told him that she had named her first daughter. That she had named her Fonce. Waiting for that to sink in, she watched him, and almost saw the tiny glimmer began to take form in his head.



Now, she has known him for a long time. She has bore him four children, she has loved him, fought with him, been exasperated and frustrated with him, and has settled into that place where nothing he does surprises her any more. That is why, when he announced that he was naming their second daughter, Ba'atar, all she could do is give a gentle laugh and nod. It was almost as if she expected it.


She named her daughter after her best friend. So did he........himself. She named her daughter after someone that she held great respect for. So did he......himself. She named her daughter for someone she admired and cared for. So did he........himself.


Upon reflection, she has laughed at the almost symmetrical, simplistic, beauty of it. They had both chosen to honor their daughters with names that belonged to someone that was very special in their lives. Someone important.


And yes, she knows that there are heads shaking, eyes rolling and tongues wagging all through the camp about it. She can almost hear the tongues clicking and the whispers, but she cares not. She has four beautiful sons, and two beautiful daughters and she is happy with them, and their names.


So, hold your clicking, wagging tongues. Give that last eye-roll and that last shake of your head in disapproval, because it is done.


Tuchuk.......Meet the daughters of the Ubar and his woman. Meet little Fonce and little Ba'atar. They Sky help us all.

To Have Faith in a Good Omen

Naming the babies had been on her mind ever since they were born. She had never given any thoughts to maybe having daughters, and she knew that Ba'atar had given even less thought to it than she had. One name had finally stuck in her mind, but it was one that she would have to seek permission to use.



Name were an important thing to them, they were not given lightly. Life was hard among the people of the plains, and they did not frivolously bestow names on babies that might not live. It was one of the reasons that they did not name their sons. Sons were simply known by a number, such as First son of so and so, or Second son of so and so, and so forth. Sometimes nick names, or what some called, milk names were used, but a man's name was something of importance to him. Before a male child could receive a name he had to master all the weapons available to them, and had to learn to hunt. This had become Rook's main duties at their fires, to help Ba'atar teach the boys learn their weapons, and to teach them to hunt. So to a man, his name was something that he worked for, and that he earned.



Not so for daughters. They were given names at birth, or shortly thereafter. Sometimes they were named for omens or portents, others were named for ancestors long gone, and some were named for friends or family members, then there were some that were just given a name because they had to have one.



Her daughters were special to her, and because of that, they would have names that meant something. Or at least the one she was naming would, the poor thing that Ba'atar had decided to name, well........Sky help her. The name that she had in mind, belonged to the one that she considered her best friend, after her mate.



He was one that she had a special bond with. Not the usual bond that most think of when they think of a man and a woman. Not that bond of lovers, but something entirely different. A strong bond of friendship. True friendship is strong, often stronger than lovers and even of family. It had grown over time, blossoming from a seed of mutual need of having someone that you could talk to, that you could trust to be honest with you. Someone that would not shade their words to what they thought you wanted to hear. Their seed had grown into a friendship that they both found comfort and security in.



A friend was someone you could differ in opinions with, but not be angry. Someone you could tease, but not step over invisible boundary lines. Someone you could love, but not have to be in love with. Someone that gave you strength and happiness by just being there, and being constant. And yes, for all of his quicksilver moods, to her he was a constant.



Perhaps she saw deeper than some, or perhaps it is because she did not probe too much into things he wished to keep to himself. And maybe it is because they both know, that if they had something that plagued them, the other would listen. Sometimes that was all it took, was the listening, to simply be a vessel for thoughts that were swirling in your head, a sounding board that did not laugh, or get upset, or judge, or seek a way to use what was told for your own devices. A friend was someone you trusted, and that could trust you..



He had stopped by their fires, and was sitting comfortably having a bowl of blackwine, when she approached the subject of his name. How he had gotten it, did it choose it, or was it chosen for him, did it have a special meaning?



He explained that he thought his name was from an omen, a curse actually. Well, that had her brow furrowing and she succinctly told him that she did not think of him as a curse. In fact, she thought of him as the opposite. She did not mean to embarrass him, but she told him she had always seen strength and loyalty in him, and that was not a curse.


That was when she sprang it on him. She wanted to name her daughter after someone that was her friend, someone that she cared for and respected. She wanted to name her daughter........Fonce.



Now, he did not jump for joy. Quite the opposite, but she had expected this. She had known him long enough to watch the well spring of emotions that flashed through the dark eyes. It took time before he could speak. He told her that he wanted to tell her of all the reasons not to name her daughter for him, but then she did not know of those reasons, and that just perhaps the baby would the good parts of his name.



She had given him a gentle smile and lifted the baby from the basket, turning her tiny face so that he could see her, and said softly that she still wished to give the gift of his name to her first born daughter. Perhaps he did not even realize it himself, but there was a softening to his expression and his tone. He told her that he was more honored than he could even say.



He then added his own caveat of sorts and told her that if the child bore his name, he would feel connected, and protective of her. Well, why would that be a bad thing? She knew that there were emotions still smoldering beneath the surface of that calm exterior when he left, but she did not prod or question him. See, that is what true friends do. They let you come to things in your own time, and your own way.


Cuddling the baby close, she inhaled deeply of that sweets smell there is, and smiled. "You are now named Fonce. I will strive to teach you to always honor that name, for it belongs to a very special friend." The little dark eyes seemed to focus on her, almost as if the tiny child understood. She could not help but feel this was a good thing.