Getting perspective from a friend.

Yes she had cried, what woman wouldn't? But she had done it in private, not subjecting anyone else to her emotions. That is just how she is. She kept much inside, that most did not know about, and she liked it that way.



Finding a fairly dry boulder along the bank of the stream she had pulled herself up to sit on it, drinking her tea and staring out over the water, lost in her thoughts and trying to put her emotions in order. The steps that came up beside her were familiar, as was the jingle of the spurs he had tied to his belt. Still looking out over the water she managed to tease and tell him that if he was of a mind to sneak up on someone tonight, he would need to do a better job.



Scooting over she made room for him on the boulder, but did not turn her head to look at him. Right now it was best that she keep her reddened eyes elsewhere. The talk between them was comfortable, as it always had been. For some reason there had never seemed to be any barriers between them, just an ease of communication that she enjoyed, and thought he did too.



He is not exactly what most would call a people person, not that he was rude, but she could always sense when people were getting on his nerves, or when he just wanted to be away from them. She did that herself at times. She did tell him that she envied men because when they had, had enough they could ride out into the herds and find solitude. He asked if that was not what she did with the kaiila, and she had to agree. She has always preferred the company of the kaiila to people most of the time. If you have a kaiila, that is yours, the beast is loyal, faithful, always glad to see you. It will lay down it's life to protect and save you, and in the instance of a war kaiila, it will take a lance before it will allow its' rider to. Yes, she found the kaiila preferable to people at times.



They talked of his time as Ubar, of the demands that were put on him, and he told her that he could see that she and Ba'atar were much better at it. She did it because she felt it was her duty as the mate to the man that sat the grays, and she thinks that Ba'atar is good at it, because he enjoys the attention, that makes a difference. Being the mate of the Ubar has gone a long way towards pulling her out of the shell she once lived in, but she did tell him there were times when she longed to crawl back into it. He could not exactly see that happening. He did say something that maybe she needed, and that maybe he knew that she needed. He said she was a Tuchuk woman, and in being that, she was priceless. Now this was not something she had given much thought to, but she would.



He said something else surprising to her. He said that watching her gave him a little bit of faith that one could recover from a loss, move on and find someone again. His observation made her laugh softly. What else was one to do, curl up and die?



They had never talked about T'zuri and her leaving. She knew him well enough to know when he wanted to speak of it, he would. Tonight was that night, and they talked about it. She told him that she knew of the pain he felt, how it was more than emotional, how it became physical and you were not sure you would survive it. But she also told him that you did. That after a time, it would lessen, never quite go away, but it would lessen to the point that you could move on. He almost seemed relieved to hear that, maybe he had been having doubts about that, and if she eased those doubts only for a few moments, this conversation was worth it.



They even touched on the fact that in your memory, the person you had lost became more than human, more than what they were, they became perfect. Now, somewhere in your mind, you know that this is not the truth, but just for a brief time, it does happen that you do not remember the faults that they had, but she does assure him, that the time will come when he will put the woman back into perspective, just as she has done with Tayco, and with Lochlan.



Suddenly he switched directions, taking the conversation to another subject that he had to have known was eating on her, even if she did not voice it. "Cana .. a man can not forget a woman that has born him a child .. it is just not in him to do. No matter what interesting, sparkling treasure might happen along .. it is nothing compared to the mother of his children."



Her head turns to look at him, and she smiles. "Is that your subtle way of telling me to bide my time, that it is not so bad?"



His gaze narrowed slightly. I will not tell you what I think .. you do not want to hear that. What I will tell you is that .. I know men, most of them anyway...and I know that there is nothing that can compare to a woman who gives a man his future.


Her gaze travels again to the water. " I know that Ba'atar loves me, I just don't think I interest him quite as much anymore. He does see me as a means to his future, to his legacy, but there are just times when I feel like I bore him."



"He will only find that other women can not compare to you .. and it might take a little time but ... I have no doubt that he will find it to be so."



Maybe this is what she needed. Something to hold on to, to give her the strength to face what was before her. When he left, she sat thinking for a long time about what a good friend he was, and how this was not the first time that he has helped her to put things in perspective. That is what she needed right now, perspective. Now, had she been a man, she might have looked up and given a prayer of thanks to the Sky for sending him to talk to her. But she is not a man, so she did not pray, she simply had those thoughts of gratitude in her mind as she made her way back to her wagons.

Come let us talk of rain, love, boots, slaves, life, respect and the loss of it. .

The bulk of her day had been spent in a wagon trying to entertain six children who were not taking being cooped up due to the rains very well. She had told stories, played guessing games with them, played her flute, everything she could think of to keep them appeased. When they finally settled down for the night, she stepped out of the wagon looking forward to some adult conversation and maybe a nice hot cup of blackwine.




She found these at the main fires, and had started to relax and release the tensions from the day. Asria was there bearing a gift of tea that she said helped you to sleep. Was it beginning to show? The fact that in the past few nights sleep had eluded her? If so, she needed to be more careful, smile more, divert people's attentions to other things. She accepted the tea graciously, and was actually thankful for it. She found herself liking the young year keeper more and more, feeling a kinship with her probably as the results of them having shared some experiences that were quite similar.



At first it was just the women there, and talk was of usual female things. It seems that Yamka is being plagued by thoughts of love and mating. That is pretty normal for an unmated woman, they all had those concerns at one time or another. She asked about love, how you knew. Now exactly how do you explain that. Sometimes it comes like a bolt of lightening in a spring storm, at others it is something that grows slowly between two people over time. A friendship that blossoms into something more.



Talk on this subject more or less ceased when the men began to arrive, the first being her mate. As usual, the first thing she did was ask if he was hungry, then proceeded to get his meal from the cooking fires. It was just something that she did. As she walked away, she felt his eyes on her backside then heard the words of him thinking she had a nice ass. Shaking her head she moved to get the meal, wondering if all men proclaimed to everyone that their mate had a nice ass. It was not exactly something she wanted to be known for, but evidently that is what he saw in her, a nice ass.



She had seen his new slave cowering under a wagon, wrapped up in a fur, not making a move to serve, but that was fine. One thing about Tuchuk women, they were independent and more than capable of taking care of their own needs. One thing that Asria did say, caused her to smile. She said that the slave did not have to like serving them, but soon she would need to learn to placate them, if she wanted to live. Good advice.



Ba'atar fed the meal that she had prepared for him to his slave, which meant she had to get him another, which she did. He questioned the slave on whether or not she had eaten. No. Then as to what she had learned today. Well, not much, since she had stayed under the wagon just watching. Figures. There was a duplicity in the slave that bothered her, but maybe she was the only one that saw it, so nothing would be said of it. But, she would keep an eye on her. It was decided that her girl juneau would take the girl in hand and try to teach her what was expected of her. Switch and all.



When Fonce arrived for a short time, talk turnead to boots, the familiarity of a favored pair of boots. Yamka seemed to think there was a hole in his boot, but he assured her that there wasn't, and that he knew his boots as well as he did his own hand. She had laughed, because she knew how he felt about those boots. There was just something about an old, worn pair of boots that made them like old friends. She rather liked what Fonce said about a new pair he tried once. He had worn them, and no longer felt connected to the plains as he had in that old worn pair that he had. She knew exactly how he felt. She has a new pair in her wagon that Ba'atar had StormHawk make right before the move north. She had worn them a couple of times, but just did not feel right in them, so she had switched back to her old patched ones.



Now, Yamka did say that she would make him a new pair, for when those finally did wear out. Good luck, leather worker. Cana had teased and told her to go right a head and make them, and she could polish them with her gray hair, because she would be an old, gray haired woman before he would give up those boots. Perhaps it was the subject matter, but maybe it was just the fact that he was soaked to the skin, and chilled, but he did not stay long, which is how he is on some nights.



Seveya joined them, and she tried to make sure the young artist knew that if she needed anything, all she had to do was ask. It was a hard time for her, many changes and she felt it was her duty to make sure that it went as smoothly as it could under the circumstances.



People drifted in and out around the fires. Yamka and Asria going to find their furs early. She was more than happy to see Jai, Kaeli and Teng arrive. Jai always has this way of lightening her heart, making her to smile and laugh. He and Kaeli just seemed to be such a perfect fit, and so happy. It was just good to see them.




And just as the previous evening, once the slave was there, she had somehow faded into the background. And as others began to arrive, it seemed to get worse. Ba'atar never gave her another thought, another word or even acknowledge she was there, much less that she was his mate. His attention was on the slave, on fondling her, taking pride in how she served.




Was she jealous? Of a slave? Not hardly. She would not exchange places with the girl for one ihn. What she felt was disappointment, and anger. Not in the slave, but in Ba'atar. She was the one he was supposed to love and respect over all others. Not so. She has seen many men with slaves, seen how they interact with them and their mates, but she has never seen anything quite like this.



And the solution to this? Remove yourself from the situation, take a walk, leave and that is what she did. Smiling, she bid everyone good night and went for a walk along the stream.

And It Begins Again

Yes, she slept in the wagon with the girls that night, and even in holding them in all their innocence, her mind wandered to the events at the fires, and she began to put them away in her heart and her mind.



It has actually been there right under the surface for quite sometime. Ba'atar was restless, he felt that overwhelming need to raid, rape, pillage and plunder, just as all Tuchuk men to, it is just part of them. But she knew there was more than that under the surface. Ever since he had nithya thrown to the sleens in a feet of pique, he had been watching the camp slaves, on the look out to find his own personal slave, one that he could call....mine. So when he and Ayguili had ridden out in search of such a creature, it was really no surprise to her.



And he had found one. Some sort of dweller woman with a haughty attitude and a mouth on her. It was hard to ignore it, but she had tried. The woman had even claimed that she would die first, before being on her knees. For a brief moment, she had a bit of respect for the woman, and was saddened just a bit to see him ride off into the darkness with her to kill her.



Well, after a time, he returned with the woman over his shoulder, fainted of course, dumped her onto the ground and told one of the younger men to chain her to his wagon. Well so much for that. Too bad the woman was fainted, it might have saved her some leg work. He came and sat beside her and in that way of his, sent her to get his dinner and some water. Something that she did not mind doing, in fact that she enjoyed doing, it was just he command of it that rankled her sometimes.



When it was brought, he began to eat and talk about how pretty is new slave was. Did she not think she was pretty? Now, exactly what do you say to that? Yes, she supposes she is pretty. He seemed quite pleased with himself and nodded, yes she was pretty and he intended to get another one that was prettier to go with her.



She sat there for a moment and tried to think of the last time he commented that she was pretty, or attractive, or even noticed when she added beads to her braid, or had on a new skirt to try and catch his attention, and well, bosk dung, she just couldn't remember back that far. Oh, he did tell her that she was beautiful, when he was trying to entice her into the furs. But as far as saying......My woman, you look nice today.......nope, didn't happen. Perhaps he did not find her attractive, that thought had crossed her mind, but then she had discounted it, because Ba'atar would not have an ugly woman for a mate, it just would not do! He was Ba'atar! So there had to be something there, right? Then perhaps, he thought it would make him look weak, less manly to compliment his woman on her appearance. Now, she did not notice him having that reservation about Silken and her skirt. Go figure.



She was not exactly in the mood to listen to him go on and on about his slave, how pretty she was and so forth and so on, so she excused herself telling him that she needed to go check on the children before bed, and he really didn't even seem to care, and told her that he had things to do too. Now she would give him a bit of credit, he did tell her that he loved her in an off-hand way, but his eyes were on the woman under his wagon?



And all day the next day she did not see him, nor did he sleep in their wagon that night, which was not all that unusual, when he did the night patrol. That was why, she was pleased to see him at the fires the following evening, working on mending the bridle. The only thing he did when she arrived was to look up and grin, and did not even return her greeting to him. Well, that caused her brow to lift, but she let it slide. When she turned to show him the skirt that Yamka had made for her, his attention was on his slave, and that is pretty much where it stayed for the entire evening. She might as well have not been there, but in a way, it was his loss, for she managed to enjoy herself at the fires, to enjoy the company of others.



Now, the fact that everyone that walked up got a greeting from him, was not lost on her. He could greet them, and not her? Is that what they call.......being taken for granted? Maybe so. And it wasn't until he had finished with his slave and brought her around with that certain look of pride and told her to serve that he even acknowledged her by sitting down beside her. Did he wrap his arm around her like he usually did? Nope. Did he kiss her cheek as he often did? Nope! He just watched his slave and began talking to Jai about getting her branded and ringed. That was when the conversation among the men turned to the moans of slaves, and so forth, and that was when she stood, excused herself and left, with the excuse again, that she had children to tend to.



Get a clue, bosk arse.



As she lay there in the darkness, she had to wonder if he even missed her in their furs tonight, or if he had even made it there himself. He had a slave, and she knew there was absolutely nothing she could do about it, but she did dread it in some ways, especially if he was by this one as he was by the last one.


They got precious little time to spend together with their duties to the tribe and their clans, and right now, the fact loomed before her that there would be even less, but she could deal with that, she had before. She would live her life as she always did, she would spend time at the fires, she would have more time for her clan duties, and the children. It was just how life went. And she did have a life.



But there was a new resolve in her that maybe he would be seeing in the near future. Never again would she sit beside him at the fires while he fondled his slave, almost furring her right there before everyone. her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.. She had done that once before, but not again. That night still weighed heavy in her memory, of sitting there and him not even speaking a word to her the entire evening, even when she spoke directly to him, his attention was for the two slaves on his lap, and no one else. He did not even seem to notice when Jai tried in a very teasing way tell him there was a time and a place for everything and perhaps this was not it. And, if one of them ever walked off away from her again without asking to be dismissed as nithya did once, it would only happen once.



She was a free woman of the Tuchuk, and she was allowed her opinions and her thoughts. Now would she ever make a scene before others? No, that was not her way. She would simply stand, bid everyone be well and walk off with all of the dignity she could find. She had no intention as serving as second best to a slave. Whether it be his slave or one that belonged to someone else. She didn't have to, she was a free woman, something to be treasured, respected.



So he has a new slave. Bully for him.

Of Thumbs, Palms and Laughter

Now, when Fonce had joined them, she notice something that she saw him do quite often. He was worrying his thumb nail, picking at it. You have to realize that she has a different attitude towards the warrior than most do. She considers him her best friend, and she has actually known him longer than her mate. They have a friendship that some do not quite understand, and that is fine. But, she also looks at him as she does her sons, and has that same motherly, commander attitude towards him. Call it the wooden spoon mentality, if you will.



Getting up from her place on the furs she invaded that precious personal space of his, sat down and took out a small pouch that she carries for tiny emergencies and situations like this. Holding her hand out she tells him to let her have his hand. Well, you would have thought she had asked him to face a legion of the fiercest warriors on the plains. In fact, he would probably have rather done that then to hand over his palm to the slender woman sitting beside him, wiggling her fingers for him to hurry up, give her his hand.



Amusement danced in the hazel depths of her eyes as he reluctantly surrendered his hand to her, probably because of the ribbing that he was getting from Yamka and Asria. For whatever reason, he did and she went to work on it, taking out a small pair of tweezers and quickly plucking the offending hangnail out, then rubbing the thumb to try and make that small pain go away. Ow! Did he just say......ow? Her head shook as she laughed softly then took out a small piece of sandstone and began to file the nail down. And no, she did not stop with that thumb, she managed to hit each nail on that hand and made mention that a little soap and water would probably not hurt it any, just as she would chide her sons about the same thing.



Now, ask her sons about soap, water and "the brush" and you will see them almost quail in fear. Every few days, from One all the way down to Two, they were subjected to a small tub of water, and a thorough scrubbing down by her and that soapy brush, then had a bucket of water dumped over their heads. Well, she had to get all that dirt, grime and dung off of them somehow, now didn't she? That mother in her just swelled with love and pride when she saw their little behinds take off running to find clean clothes to put on, and she felt she had done her duty. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for him, he was too big for the scrubbing down with the brush, but do not think it had not crossed her mind.



He had pulled his hand back, and inspected that thumb, probably certain that she had caused some sort of damage that would last the rest of his life. It was almost funny in a way, the way the little boy seemed to flicker in and out of the big, brave warrior. Then suddenly, she had another inspiration.



Again she held her hand out for his, wiggling those fingers, asking for it back. And of course, he was reluctant, maybe fearing she would find some other way to torture him via his hands. But, there is that trust between them and he slowly extended his hand and she turned it over, palm up and bent her dark head over it.


Yamka and Asria were clearly amused as they watched. Ba'atar? He was not even aware the rest of them were there, he was too intent on his slave. Right now, she was basically in a teasing, entertaining mode, at poor Fonce's expense.



Slim fingers made what she considered mysterious motions over his upturned palm, and she spoke with that same mysterious tone in her voice, to read his fortune. He ask if she needed to look at his palm to see his fortune, he would tell her how many bosk he had. Hush Silly. I am reading your future here. Well, that brought a small curious look to his almost black eyes. Curiosity from a spex? She must be doing a good job!



In a soft voice she began to tell of his future, of a dark, mysterious woman that lurked there. Yep, she had his attention, so she goes right in for the kill. A mysterious woman that had a wooden spoon in each hand and that was going to lay them upside the side of his head if he didn't wash his hands.



Well, she waited for it to sink in, fighting a laugh. The laughs came from Yamka and Asria, then from him! Now from time to time they would get a wry chuckle or a smirk from him, but he laughed, a nice, deep down from the depths of his belly laugh, and even smiled and showed that wealth of nice white teeth. Releasing his hand, she was laughing too, and it felt good. He gave her a brotherly hug, resting his chin on her dark head for a moment, still chuckling.



Yes, it felt good to laugh, and to see others laugh and to know that you were responsible for it. She might just need to do this more often. She had a sense of humor, but did not really show it all that much, maybe she should.

The Colors of Her World.

There had been a fine mist all day, not really rain, just a mist that dampened thing and that made some of those stubborn curls that she tried so hard to keep tamed into braids slip free and curl around her cheeks. The bain of all women with curly hair. For some reason it drew her memory back to sitting in the warmth of a wagon, in Tayco's lap as he drew the brush through her hair and they talked. Not a sexual moment, but a very intimate one that made her smile.



After she had seen to the small things that needed to be done around the wagons, and had set the slaves to their tasks, the remainder of the day had been quietly spent with the children. Or at least the younger four. One and Another One were at the ages where they had their own friends, who drew their interest much more than being confined in a wagon with their mother and siblings. Also was content, but it was Two that caused the most problems, the stubborn little bosk. He did not understand why he was not allowed to go with his older brothers, and how did you tell him that he was too young. Finally Rook relieved her of his pouting little existence and took him for a ride along the rows of wagons, which left her in peace and quiet, with Also and the girls, who were getting more mobile now, sitting up, making efforts to semi-crawl on the furs by scooting on their stomachs.



In the evening, after the children were settled she finally ventured out to the main fires, craving the company of adults who sat upright and talked and laughed. As she approached she could almost feel the pride and excitement radiate off of Yamka as she produced the new split-skirt she had been working on. As with almost all things that the young leather worked produced under the guidance of the clan elders it was well thought out, well constructed and from what she could make of it, something that might be very useful to the women. Yamka insisted that she take it and be the first to try it, and she was honored. She turned to hold it up, to show to Ba'atar that was sitting there repairing a bridle, but it was to no avail. His attention was drawn to the dweller woman that he had captured the previous evening, not on her, evidently. Shrugging, she went to put the skirt in her personal wagon and returned.



Fixing her tea, only a glance was given to where he had moved to amuse himself with his new acquisition. For a time, she spoke with Yamka then others began to arrive slowly. Each got a greeting from her mate, which had her brow arching only slightly, but she said nothing.



She was glad to see each one of them as they came, to her, each person added a different shade to the spectrum of the fire. Now, it was not surprising to her that Yamka had chosen the different shades of yellow from the box left in the bath wagon. To her, yellow represented hope, warmth, cheerfulness, and a nurturing soul, all things that she saw in subtle shades in the young leather worker. She was pleased at how the young woman has grown in her time here, and how she has taken her new responsibilities to heart, and has tended to them with a smile and what she perceives as a happy heart. She has come very far since those first days here, and still had a ways to go, but she could not help at smile at the way the young woman was weaving herself into the tapestry of life here among the first wagons.




When Asria arrived, she got the sense of cool blues and greens, the colors of a spring on the plains. Colors that to her evoked a feeling of quiet beauty, harmony and feminine grace. Right now there were still the shades of gray that swirled around the edges, the color of loss and mourning, but she felt they were edging away, and would become a smaller and smaller part of the woman's color scheme. They would never completely disappear, but they were already losing their dominance. Happiness would come to the young woman again and when it did, she could almost see how the blues and greens would dance whenever the woman was near.



Then there was Fonce. She studied him for a few moments. Is what she sees what everyone else sees when they look at him? She thinks not. The colors around him are never static, never still. Underlying everything are shades of brown, beige and reddish browns which are the basis of the lands they live on, a foundation. But always, there are others that swirl around him. The reds of vitality, passion, power and the purples of wisdom, deep thinking, the grays of loss shaded with despair. But when she looks at him she also sees the blues and greens of the waters and the sky, mixed with ivories and white that show that there is still an innocence deep inside of him. And innocence of what, she is not sure, but it is there. Then of course, there are the reds, oranges and gold that she thinks stems from the fires of the passionate search he always seems to be on to understand the meaning of life around him. She doesn't think he will ever be one to just live life and accept its' day to day harmony. And, there is the black, and she knows that it will always be there. It is as much a part of him as living and breathing are. Always the black.



Her gaze cast over to where Ba'atar was toying with his new slave. This is the man that she should know the best, but also the one that probably confuses her the most. When she sees him, she sees red. Not in a negative way, but he red of power, courage, vitality and passion. Many shades of it, swirling around in constant motion like a nest of hiths. The browns are also there in smaller portions. The browns of the land and the bosk. Then there are the oranges,the colors of the Central Fires, and always the blue, the blue that for some odd reason seems to make his world go around. The blue of the Sky which he reveres over all else. The blue of a slaves eyes or a painted daughter? His colors always swirled in an almost frantic way, never settling down, never seeming to find any peace. Always searching and wanting more, that was how he was, always searching for something. What she does not see in him are any shades of yellow,shades of true happiness, or shades of greens, the shades of peace and well-being.



When Jai arrived, there was another infux of that red, which seems to be a common color for all men. That color of power, courage and vitality. But with him, there was that bright yellow that seemed to radiate cheerfulness and happiness from the man. Then of course there were the grays. The grays of the losses he has suffered, but also the grays that to her symbolized his forge, the strength behind the forge and the man. Then there were the shades of purple that were maybe the wisdom he has learned in his long life. The colors all seemed to move in a nice orderly fashion, in a way that denotes a man that knows himself and what he wants from his life, and what he has obtained. Maybe in a peaceful way.



That night she slept in the wagon with her daughters. Lying there the colors that came to her were gentle pinks, lavenders and the white of innocence and purity. What mother would not want to embrace these colors, and to keep the more negative ones away from her children? Was it wrong in some way for her to want them to never know anger, hurt, or loss? No, she thinks it is natural, the instinct of every mother. She ended up taking them into the furs with her, holding them in her arms as if she were protecting them, but maybe it was something more, maybe it was her way of for the briefest moment to get some of that innocence back, to shed some of the pain that she was feeling.



Colors, good or bad or neutral, all a part of life.

He Is Just Tired

She was feeling very good, exceptionally good. It is a wonder what a hot bath, clean clothes and a good nights sleep can do to restore a woman, or maybe even a man, as far as that goes. She had to smile as she saw all the braids along the trail bedecked by colorful ribbons and beads, they added just the right touch of color to the dusty landscape.



She had just finished feeding the girls and getting them settled down with the slaves, and had mounted back up on her kaiila. As she rode by the boys wagon, she saw Also's head peek out of the flaps and rode closer motioning to him. When he stepped out onto the platform she reached to pull him up onto the saddle in front of her and handed him the reins, and there they were again, him giving his mother a ride. She had to smile at how his little back seemed to get just a tad straighter and how his chin lifted, almost in pride of what he was doing.



It was a cool day, with the promise of maybe some rain in their future, but it had not materialized as of yet. The day grew later, but it was still far too early for them to stop, for they took advantage of every moment of daylight that they could, and suddenly the wagons started slowing to a stop and she could hear the sound of the drums signaling that there were stopping for the day, but they would not make the spiraling move to circle the wagons, they would leave them strung out in a line, which was highly irregular.



Putting her heels gently to the kaiila's side she moved up closer to the lead wagons to see if there was a problem. She found Ba'atar standing beside Tone, his hands on his hips, and a not too happy look on his face. Dropping down from the beast, she reached up to lift Also down, held his hand and approached her mate and asked him what was wrong. He nodded to a huge, black bull that was laying down right across the track they needed to follow, and said simply. "Him"



Her head tilted as she studied the bull, taking stock of his size, age and demeanor, and had to nod at Ba'atar's words as he said they would not move until the bull moved. Now if you know bosk, this could take some time. As she spoke with Ba'atar, Also slipped his hand from hers and walked steadfastly up closer to the bull, then squatted down near him, looking the huge animal in the eyes.



She took a few steps forward to go bring him back, but something made her stop. It would take the animal some time to get to his feet, so she did not fear for the boy, and found his manner in how he was looking at the bull fascinating in a way.



Soon he stood and walked back to where she and Ba'atar stood hand looked up at his father with an almost amusing, somber look on his little face and stated quite clearly. "He is tired. When he is not tired,he will move". He then took his mother's hand again as if it were the most natural thing to do. Ba'atar looked at her with one brow askance and she shrugged. "You want him to talk to you, and he just did." Turning around she led their son back to he kaiila, lifted him into the saddle, handed him the reins then pulled back up into the saddle behind him.



The last thing she saw before she turned the animal to go back up the long line of wagons, was Ba'atar standing there, his hand lifted, fingers worrying the hairs on his chin as they often did when he was trying to puzzle something out in his head. Laughing softly she spoke to Also and told him that she thought tonight would be a good night for her to break out some dried berries and make a cobbler for him and his brothers.


Mother's have the right to treat their sons to something special from time to time, now don't they?

There might be things that a Hot Bath will not cure, but I don't know of many.

She was a woman that watched things. Watched her surroundings and the people in them. Even after only a few days on the trail she was seeing the telltale signs of weariness, of sore muscles that had not been used quite often enough. She saw the trail dust that clung to clothing, skin and hair, no matter what you did to try and stop it. She was feeling the same weariness, so she knew how others felt.



Riding along beside the stream she watched the waters and an idea began to form in the back of her mind, probably without even her conscious knowledge of it at first. Baths. They needed baths, and not just a dunk in the cold waters of the stream, but real baths.



Now, a man is different. He can strip off his leathers, wade out into the midst of the waters of the stream, dunk himself, lift back up and shake his head sending a spray of water everywhere, and call it good. Children were much the same way. They got their baths under the guise of swimming and playing in the water, and they were happy, their mothers were happy, and all was good.



But for a woman, it was different. Now she could wade out into the water, fully clothed, lean over and make an attempt to wash, to try and get the dirt and dust out of her hair, but there was no satisfaction in that. To a woman, a proper bath was almost ritualistic, something to be lingered over, to be enjoyed, something that revived more than the body, but also the soul. It can border on being an almost mystical experience if done properly.



The thought finally grew to fruition, and with she began to think and to plan. When they stopped for the night and she looked at the faces of the women around her, she knew that she was on the right path. Calling to twist, she whispered for her to gather up some girls, roll some barrels of water to the bath wagon and start to warm them.



When the women looked at her a little oddly, she smiled and lay her plan out for them. They were going to have hot baths tonight, complete with scented soaps and oils that she would furnish, and slaves to help them to wash, dry and braid their hair. When one mentioned ribbons, she knew that the idea was talking a hold on them all. Yes, she had a whole basket of ribbons that had come from a raid on a merchants caravan, and she would make sure they were in the wagon too. Perhaps a nice yellow one for Yamka.



She was the first, and had stopped at her supply wagon to gather up a basket of things that she considered absolutely essential for the evening ahead. Soaps, some of the scented oils that Tarra had made for her, the basket of ribbons, even a box of multi-colored beads that could be woven in your hair.



As she sank into the tub of hot, scented waters an audible sigh of almost orgasmic proportions came from her, and she was not one bit embarrassed by it. Too often they became so involved in their lives of raising children, taking care of their mates, seeing to their work in their clans, tending to the bosk and the herds of verr and the coops of vulo, that they forgot to take time for themselves, and she was a guilty of it as anyone. There is nothing wrong with pampering yourself, of making yourself more attractive on a daily basis. There was nothing wrong with being a woman.



As she relaxed and luxuriated in the water a smile softened her face. There were many gifts that she could give to her sisters of the first wagons, but right now, at his very moment, she has a feeling that the gift of a bath is one they will all enjoy and treasure, if only for a few ahn tonight. She would make sure that slaves were sent to tell everyone they could find, that baths were being made available. All she had to do now, is manage not to go to sleep during hers.

You want to do what.......where?

It had started as any other night, quiet. She had joined Ba'atar at the fires and they had the company of one of the prospects. A woman by the name of Seveya, that was an artisan. She envied people that had an artistic bent, and their talents. But before this night was over, she was not all that sure, and it truly had nothing to do with the poor young woman.



Ba'atar was questioning her about her clan, and to whether or not she painted, or did pottery, the usual thing. He seemed to perk up at the fact that the young woman did paint. Suddenly, out of the blue, he asked her if she could paint something on his woman's butt. Ahh, what?



She tried to go along with it with her usual good nature, but something bothered her about her mate wanting her to bare her behind to someone that she barely knew, and allow her to paint something on it. Was this normal, or was it just him teasing? At first she thought he simply teased, then the conversation turned to something that caught her attention very quickly.



What was it with him and this desire to see one of their daughters painted or dyed blue? Maybe he had not gotten the answers he wanted when he spoke to Silken and Kaeli about the safety of it. Now he seemed compelled to get another opinion from and artisan, no less.



Well, yes she did have paints that she thought were safe, and they weren't exactly permanent, she thought they wore off in time. In time? They would wear off in time? What kind of answer was that? She explained to the young woman that their daughters were only a few moons old, and was she sure they were safe? She hated to put the woman on the spot, but she did. What was it with these people? Did they fear telling him......No, this is not really a good idea, to paint a baby. Was she the only one that saw this?



A light actually came to his eyes as he spoke of her painting something on the cheeks of his daughters. What? She could feel the anxiety begin to churn in her stomach and the anger at the absolute folly of it all rising to the surface. Taking a deep breath she quickly was searching for something that might deter him from this.



I mean, she did not wish to cast any shadow on the young woman and her work, but that was the first thing that came to mind. How did they even know she could draw a straight line, much less paint a design, and he wanted to turn her loose on the flesh of their daughters with dyes and paints that she thought were safe, and that would probably wear off in time. Was this rational thinking?



Then he came up with the idea that she could just put a dot of it on their hands to see if it was safe. Their hands, did he not notice that the first place their hands went was into their mouths? Well that did it. She looked at him and offered that they might put a spot on Two's hand to test its' safety. She knew that he would never let that happen, he would never think to endanger one of his sons that way.



Wrong thing to say. Suddenly she was........irrational. Irrational? And painting or dying one of their babies was rational. The next thing out of his mouth was to order her to get up and get him some food. Ah yes, the slave thing. That worked, now didn't it? With all of the dignity that she could muster, she lifted to her feet, fetched him a bowl of stew and a bota of water, served it to him with a smile, then excused herself for the evening, with the excuse of needing to check on the children.



With her head lifted she walked off to her wagons and climbed into the one with the girls and curled around them as if she could protect them with her presence. She knew better. If Ba'atar wanted something, he had this way of getting it, unfortunately. Hopefully the move would take is mind off of it, hopefully.



Suddenly, having her behind painted seemed much better than the alternative, if it would deter him from is obsession with dying or painting their daughters.

To Love, Is Not Always......To Like

They had stayed until the Central Fire had began to sink low into the horizon, showering the lands with its' glow of oranges, yellows, pinks and purples. She had sat on her kaiila just watching it for a time, basking in the beauty of it, before turning back towards the wagons.



They were all weary as they unpacked and began to clean the empty crocks and bowls they had taken to have their meal from. The boys went off with Rook to clean the fish, and he had promised to show them how to salt them. The boys save Also. He followed her around like a shadow, only settling when she sat down to feed the girls. He sat beside her humming a tuneless song. She wondered if he ever did that for Ba'atar? He waited patiently until the girls were fed, and nodding off to sleep. She got them up and when to put them down in their wagon for the night, charging a slave to stay nearby in case one of them woke up.



And still, he waited patiently for her until she came out. He had the bundle in his lap that contained his flowers and the soil from around them. Looking up, she could tell by his little face that he was waiting for her to fulfill her promise to find a pot for them. Going through the pots in the supply wagon she found one that was the right size, and by luck, it even had a crack along the side. With pot in hand, she also picked up a couple of broken pots and stepped out and went to sit beside him.



When he asked why she got a "broked" one, she explained to him that the crack would allow the water to seep out and she was pretty sure that was a good thing. Her will all of her Tuchuk, horticultural knowledge. Taking the handle of her quiva, she put the broken pots on the ground and broke them into smaller pieces then put them into he bottom of the chosen pot. A little more soil was dug up to put on top of that, then she helped him to unwrap his flowers and allowed him to set them into the pot and showed him how to pat the soil in gently around the roots, covering them. She then sent him for a bota of water and helped him to dribble a few drops into the pot. Sitting back she grinned at him, and told him that with any luck and the blessing of the Sky they would grow.



There is this thing about Also, he can be so serious, but when he does smile, his face simply lights up and there is nothing more charming or more beautiful, and he graced her with one of those smiles. She told him that when his father got home, he could show him his flowers. The smile vanished and the little dark head shook and he mumbled, asking her not to tell his Daddy. This puzzled her, and even though it might seem like coddling, she pulled him into her lap, brushed the dark hair from his eyes and asked why.



"He will get the face" Her brow lifted. "The face?" Again the dark head bobbed, then lifted and the cherubic little face drew into a scowl, which made her brow lift even higher. "Where did you learn that?" The face relaxes and that soft voice answers her. "From Daddy. That is his Also can't sing face" She almost laughed, but realize that he was dead serious. "Oh Also, I am sure he doesn't mean to scowl so, maybe you misunderstand" There was no misunderstanding the tears that threatened in her sons' eyes, as he lowers his head and speaks barely above a whisper. "He don't like me."



In her life, she has suffered many types of pain, but the pain that went through her heart hearing those words come from her son, was sharper than a quiva. She held him closer. "Oh Also, you are so wrong. Your father loves you very much. He loves all of his children, you included." He was not to be swayed, his head shook again and she could see tears threatening as he stated very simply. "But he don't like me. I can't sing and he grunts and gets the mean face.". Again his little face pulled into the scowl.



She gathers him into her arms and rocks him gently trying to assure him that his father did love him, and she knows in her heart that Ba'atar does love all the children, but maybe Also had it right, he did not like them all that much sometimes. He has put so much store in Also, as his first blood son, being a singer, that maybe he had lost sight of the fact that it might not be the boys path. Although she knew the tears were there, the child never shed them, and she sat there watching as he withdrew into himself, into a place where maybe he felt more comfortable, safer, until he fell asleep.



There were just things that one parent cannot say to their children about the other parent, it just is not done. But as she puts the sleeping boy down in his furs and covered him up, those unspoken words ran through her mind. She loved the man very, very much, in spite of his arrogance and that stubborn way of his, but she has to admit, that at a time like this, she doesn't like him all that much.

It is Time.

They awoke to a beautiful morning, one where The Central Fire was bright, its' rays warm and there was no wind. It was far to glorious not to do something special. Ba'atar got the two older boys up and took them to the herds with him, and she was left with the four younger children, which was fine.



As she sat on the platform having her morning blackwine, Rook came to sit beside her and asked what she had planned for her day. She listed the things that she wanted to accomplish, and he asked how many of them could be done by the slaves or clan members and she looked at him oddly. He laughed and told her that he was going fishing today, and thought maybe she and the children might want to join him. He did not have to ask twice.



She was up, giving orders to the slaves and within the ahn they had managed to get the children dressed, pack a meal into baskets, make-up some bundles of furs to sit on, and were ready to go. Rook brought their kaiila around, along with one to pack the meal and furs on, and they were off. Rook took both of the boys on his kaiila with him, and she had found a way to wear two carriers, one on the front of her body, another on the back, so she had the girls, and the juneau and twist ran along side them, almost giddy with the beauty of the day.



As they rode up the banks of the meandering stream, she was observant to things around her. The smell of the air, how it felt on her skin, even to the sounds of the water moving along the rocks in the stream bed and to how far up the banks it was. Rook finally found what he considered the perfect spot and they unloaded their things, spread the furs on the ground and got settled. He took the two boys down closer to the water to fish, and she lay the girls out on a fur and sat for a time just watching them entertain themselves with fingers and toes.



Laying back with her arms crossed under her head she just watched the skies, marveling at how blue they were with only a few clouds drifting lazily by. She had to smile when she saw a flock kites on the wing flying in the general direction of the south. They were not as organized in their flight as the V-shapes of migrating geese. They seemed to travel in a swirling mass of wings having no direction about them, but moving inexorably on a southern path of flight. This was a good sign.



As she lay there, she felt something hit her forehead. Not something heavy, but something light, without much weight to it. Lifting her hand she captured whatever it was and sat up. Opening her fingers slowly she grinned. "Well tal there brother grasshopper, and how are you today?" The insect sat there a bit stunned, but when she unfurled her fingers completely making a platform of her palm he jumped off landing in the grass. She watched him a moment as he re-acclimated himself and hopped off. Laughing she pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them as she looked around, reveling again in the beauty of the day.



She caught sight of Also squatting in the grass not far from Rook's watchful eye. He seemed to be fascinated by something there, so she lifted to her feet and went to see what held his attention. Lowering down to her knees beside him, a hand comes out to rub his back gently as she asks what he is looking at. It was rare that he truly smiled, but he turned that cherubic face up to her and was beaming as he pointed to a spot in the grasses. Leaning a bit closer, moving her braid from her shoulder to behind her back, she too smiled. There, nestled in the grass were two tiny crocus, the harbingers of spring. She leaned to kiss the top of that dark head and told him that they were a sign that the tribe would soon be on the move. He asked if he could take them and she thought for a moment of the pots she had hidden back in her wagons. Why not?



Taking the quiva from her boot, she very carefully slipped it into the ground around the flowers, taking great care to get some of the other shoots that could be barely seen. She explained to him that they would not live long, but maybe if they took extreme care and put them in pots, he would have them for many seasons and they would grow each spring as a special gift to him. A promise of spring each turning, a promise of new life, of renewal, of hope. Now this might be a concept that one as young as her son would not grasp, but not so. He nodded that little dark head and spoke softly. "As mother Sky wills it." She could not help but smile and lean to kiss the top of his head.



With the clump of soil in her hands she returned to the furs and sat it down carefully telling him that they would transport it back to the wagons. Nodding again his attention was diverted to things around him and his little had craned back and he pointed to the sky. Looking up she smiled as she saw the familiar pattern of a flock of geese in flight. He then said softly. "They go home." Looking at him, she nodded, he then said. "We go home" Now that surprised her, but she did not make a big deal of it. She simply smiled and tilted her head to watch the flight of birds.



She knew that the members of the spex clan were doing whatever it is that spex do to read omens, that is their job. And she knew that her mate was waiting on the portent of those readings. However, she did not need chants or verr livers or the livers of some poor hapless slave to tell her it was time to return to the southern grounds.



She had the world around her that spoke to her, the earth that nourished the grasses it just smelled different when the season was changing, the grass whispered its' own chant about the changing of the season, the wind that swept the lands with it's warm caress, the appearance of the first green shoots and tiny flowers. They all told her it was time. Just as at the end of the warm season, the same things spoke to her. She has been known to sit for hours and watch as the ants scurried to and fro, storing food for the cold months. When the coats of the animals began to thicken that told her colder weather was drawing near. When the plants along the banks of the stream began to droop and change colors, she knew. All one had to do is watch the beauty and bounty of what the Sky blessed them with, and you just knew.

A Beacon In the Wasteland......Hopefully.

There was little in camp that she didn't know, that is just how things were. When she heard of the death of the warrior Pacu it wrenched her heart. Personally, she did not know the man, she only knew that he was probably the closest thing to a brother that her friend had. And she also knew, that for all of his strength, that he would be hurting. Death does that. It lays a wasteland out before you, and whether or not you are able to pick you way across that vast nothingness and find the path back to some semblance of normalcy, to some semblance of life without that one you lost, was up to your and your strength of heart. She had faith in him, she had faith that he would conquer that wasteland just as he had others.



This was not something they had ever talked about, perhaps they never felt the need to, and maybe it was just that neither wanted to open any kind of wound in the other. It is funny how that even with someone you consider to be a close friend, that you often avoid things like that. Maybe, when he was not hurting, when he was ready they could talk.



But for now, she did that thing that women have done since the beginning of time, she cooked. Rook had brought down a nice sized tabuk, it was roasted to perfection then sliced and placed into a crockery vessel with the juices that had cooked out of it. Bread was made, packed into a basket along with crocks of freshly churned verr butter and rounds of cheese.



And tucked in around all of this were bags of her honey-salted nuts, and two jars of honey were added for good measure. Laden down with the baskets of food she began the trek to the group of wagons where friends and family would be gathered. As she approached, some recognized her and nodded, and she returned the nods with a quiet smile.



She would not intrude, that was really not her intent. She gave the baskets of food to a woman that she assumed was a member of the family and spoke softly to her asking her to give the condolences of the Ubar and herself to the family, then she slipped away as quietly as she had come. When he was ready, he would know where to find her. When he began to pick his way across that wasteland, he would see a beacon of friendship glowing in the emptiness. He would know where it was, and where to find it.

A Fire In The Night

You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn't get much higher.

Come on baby light my fire
Come on baby light my fire
Try to set the night on fire.

The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre

Come on baby light my fire
Come on baby light my fire
Try to set the night on fire.
Try to set the night on fire.
Try to set the night on fire.

@ Doors Music Company



A man, a woman.......what else is there to say?

Taking Care of Business

She was up early, for she had much on her mind and much to accomplish today. Her first stop was at that pink nightmare wagon where she sough Silken to no avail. She then made stops at the wagons of the iron master and his mate, Kaeli, with the same results. Tarra had already told them that Falon was working out in the outer wagons, so that was a dry stream too. None of that was going to deter her today. She was on a mission, and before the Central Fire sank below the horizon, she will have accomplished it.



With he help of the slaves, she managed to get all six children bathed, dressed and clean at the same time. Have you ever considered exactly what an undertaking that is, especially when four of the six are boys that by nature seem to find dirt? They finally managed it. So, with a baby on each hip, the four boys trailing along under the watchful eyes of juneau and twist, where were there to help keep them corralled, she sat off with determined steps to the fires of the Healer's Clan.



Arriving there she was met by someone that she was familiar with, the elder healer Tatoonie. The woman was gracious to a fault, and asked what was needed. She explained what her mate was wanting done, and almost before she knew it, the girls were taken from her by another healer, and yet another one gathered the boys up and began inspecting them, and Tatoonie, herself motioned to a wagon where they would have privacy for her examination.



She found she liked the woman, and respected her way of doing things, and the observations that she made. They discussed her overall health, her pregnancies, and her mental well being. She was pronounced as healthy as a woman of her age could be, but the woman did agree that waiting before having another child was a wise decision for her and the Ubar to make. They discussed the siproot, and she had told the woman that Tarra had sent some over to her. Tatoonie explained to her how to chew it, how often, and the time line of when she would need to stop chewing it, if she wanted to get pregnant. When they had finished, she felt informed and relieved.



Stepping out, she had answered questions from another woman about how small the girls had been at birth. The woman seemed very pleased at the progress they had made, the weight they had put on, and in how strong and alert they were. This too was a relief to her.



All in all, the children were all pronounced to be in good health. There was an older man holding Also, and she went to sit on the platform next to him and asked what he thought of her son. He thought he was fine, good and healthy. He gave her a slant of a look and told her that she has come a long way from the young girl that had studied at these fires at one time, long ago. He also told her that he was pleased that she had found her path and followed it. She could not help but smile as she then remembered the man from her time here.



She did feel compelled to voice Ba'atar's concerns that something was wrong with Also because he did not talk much. It was Tatoonie that grunted at that. Looking over to the woman her brow had lifted, and she asked if she saw a problem. What she heard next, actually made her laugh gently. Tatoonie spoke in that forthright way of hers.



"You remind the Ubar that I was the one that took care of him and his brothers when they were children, he will know who I am. And you can also remind him that he was not all that quick to talk himself. But, he really had no need to, because that mother of his was there to anticipate his every need and whim. But when he did begin to talk, I am not sure he has stopped since that moment."



The older man that was holding Also grunted and told her that he found Also to be very intelligent, and agreed with Tatoonie, as of yet he didn't have anything to say, but that did not mean there was anything wrong with him. In fact, quite the contrary.



Leaving the fires, she felt much better, much relieved. And, she found she enjoyed the time there, and it brought back memories of her short time there when she was younger.



Returning to her wagons, the boys were changed into older clothes that would not be damaged by their daily rounds of play and fighting. Rook took One and Another One off to see to some traps he had set, Also contented himself with sitting on the blanket with the girls, entertaining they with a length of string that had a soft bag of verr wool tied to the end of it, and Two found his own entertainment in helping twist beat and air the furs.



Taking out the siproot that Tarra had sent her, she turned it over in her hands, nose wrinkling. It was a vile looking thing. When juneau saw her intent, she had reached out to still her hand, and begged her to wait just a couple of ihn. Up on her feet, the slave went to make a mug of tea that had extra honey in it. Returning to her feet, she offered it up, and explained quietly that the Mistress would thank her for this.



Cutting off a couple of slivers of the nasty looking root, she put them into her mouth and began to chew and was immediately assaulted by the bitter taste. The texture was woody, and the more she chewed, the woodier it got. Finally she choked it down and reached for the mug of tea to wash it down with. And juneau was right, she was totally thankful that the girl had made the offering and leaned to kiss her brow to show that.



Taking out her counting beads, she strung one single bead on the strand. For now, they would help her to keep track of something different, of the days between the root.



Tucking the beads away, she looked up to see Hallie running towards her all excited. Tone was down. It was time for her to give birth. Grasping Hallie's hand, they both ran towards the pens to witness the birth, and to be there in case something went wrong. She did not think Ba'atar would be real pleased if he lost his favored mount in giving birth to a foal.

When A Man Loves a Woman.........

Ba'atar had questioned her again about whether or not she had been checked out by Silken. She explained to him that they just did not seem to be making connections. Now this, is causing a small problem between them, not a problem really, but an inconvenience.



There had been much teasing between the two of them at the fires, perhaps too much. With Tarra present, should they have been more dignified? Have you ever seen a dignified Tuchuk? She knew that they cared for her, they had both shown and told her in their own ways. They went about their usual banter, and life. And she was not surprised when the spex left the fires, she can remember doing that a time or two when she was grieving over Tayco and Lochlan. It takes time.



After Tarra had left, he had asked a question that she was not really prepared for. Was she ready to have another baby? Now what do you say to that, knowing his penchant for many sons? The only thing she could do was be honest with him. No, not really. She has given birth to six children in about 7 turnings of the seasons, and in some ways she is tired. It is not that she does not want more children, she does. But, she would like to take the time right now to enjoy the ones that they have. And, she would like to experience the move without either being with child, or having just given birth to one.


He always had this way of surprising her sometimes. He had nodded in agreement and they had discussed when they might be ready to try again. It was decided that after the move in the spring, after they had reached the southern grasses, then they would talk again.


Slipping his arm around her, he stroked her back and told her that she needed to see about that stuff that would keep her from conceiving. This was another tiny shock to her, knowing how he had reacted when others had mentioned it after Two was born. He had been very, very adamant about her not using it. All of this made her realize that he was concerned about her and the toll that having so many children so quickly might be taking on her body.


But his actions and his words did let her know that she needed to find a healer soon, because they both needed each other in the way that a man needed a woman. Sure, there were slaves for him to sate his need in, but he said that was not the same as having his woman fully in his arms and his furs. This too touched her. She realized that he was seeking more than simple sex, he was seeking the intimacy that was there when they came together.


Bottom line to all of this, is she needed to find a healer!

Just An Old Clay Pot

A few days passed, but her longing for the south did not abate much. She found herself in her personal wagon, pulling something that was buried behind a stack of old tunics. She has not idea why she feels so guilty in this, it isn't a bad thing, just probably something that some people would laugh at her about.



She almost winces at the sound of the two pots clanking together as she pulled them out to set in her lap. Carefully she unwraps the fur that she had bundled them in, to keep them warm during the cold months. They were not much to look at, just two simple clay pots filled with the rich soil of the plains. Not even two of her best pots, in fact they were a bit cracked and worn, but were still special to her. She sat there, thinking about the contents of the pots and the story behind them.



When she had been pregnant with Also, Ba'atar and some of his brothers had felt the need to raid, rape and pillage so strongly, that he had left her to go do just that, promising he would be back in two hands time. Well, two hands had stretched into two moons, then two into three, and three into four, then five, then six. You get the picture.



Most had given them up for dead, fearing that they had been lost to the dangers of the plains. But not her. Now she did become almost crazy with worry, but she tried not to show it. When people would ask about him, she would smile and say that she expected him back just any day. And she knew the frowns, and the heads that shook when she would turn to walk away. She knew that others thought her a fool for having that kind of faith in him. In a man that she really had not been mated to all that long, but she had that faith. Don't ask her how, or why, but she did.



The moons had waxed and waned many times in his absence. When her time came, he was not there. It was Tarra that had helped her to give birth to his first son in his absence. It was Rook that had spent ahn upon ahn talking to her, helping her to cope. But it was her, and her alone that kept the faith, and watched, and waited.



When he had returned, so many emotions flowed through her, that she didn't know what to do first. Should she run to him, throw her arms around him and smother him with kisses. Or, should she walk right up to him and place a skillet upside his head and lash him with her tongue? Or should she just break down and cry tears of relief and joy? In that moment, she actually did none of those things. She had been standing at her fire, tending to a pot of something cooking, the new baby in her arms when she looked up to see him.



He was as nonchalant as he could be. He acted as if he had just come in from a nights patrol. It took them both a few moments to get their emotions in hand. And he asked the most asinine question. "Whose baby?" Whose baby? Good Sky above. But in that way of hers' she answered simply. "Our baby. Your first son." In that moment, the wellspring of emotions broke in them both. She ran to him, he did not seem able to embrace her close enough, and was even loathe to allow her to go so that he could get a good look at his first son.



Now, this story does have a point. On that trip, he had found that field of flowers, and had carefully dug some up from the earth, placed them into a carrier and carried them on his quest with him. And during that quest, even when danger stalked them, and death tip-toed around them, he had managed to water and tend to that precious carrier of blue flowers, and to deliver it to her in tact.



So you see, those flowers were and are very important to her. She had transferred them from the carrier into a pot, tended them, and enjoyed the blossoms and fragrance all that season. They had sat on the platform of her wagon, a joy to her. It almost broke her heart when the blooms fell from the stalks. She watched each day as the colder weather made the plant wither and die.



She had come upon juneau one day about to dump the dead contents into the fire in the course of her cleaning things up, and that was probably the first time she ever raised her voice to the girl. Taking the pot, she had held it close and gone into her personal wagon and sat for a time just staring at it, her brow furrowed in thought.



There is this quiet stubborn streak in her, that those that know her knows exists. And that stubbornness took over. In her mind, if the flowers of the field came back and bloomed each turning of the seasons, why could these not come back? Perhaps it was ingrained in the flowers to bloom, bring beauty and joy, then to die, to only live again, just as it was ingrained in her people to follow the grass.



Carefully she had tipped the contents out onto the floor and pondered them. The first thing that she noticed was that the roots seemed to be crowded together, tendrils turning back upon themselves for lack of anywhere else to go. Now what did she know about plants and planting? The only thing she had ever planted in her life was one foot in front of the other as she walked from here to there and back again. For the briefest moments, she pondered on how many pasangs she had walked in the worn boots she was wearing, but that was something to think upon another day.



She had gone out, found another pot, filled it with soil then returned to the wagon. She was almost holding her breath when she took her quiva and sliced the tangled ball of roots in twain. She could swear she heard them cry at the pain of separation.



And just as carefully, she had placed each ball of roots into a pot, covered them with soil and sat back, rather pleased with herself for a moment. She stared at them like she expected them to do something, but they didn't. All she could do is try to protect them from the cold, just as she protected her children from it. That meant wrapping them in fur, putting them in a safe place, and hope for the best.


Now with thoughts of spring tumbling around in her head, perhaps it was time to see if they were still there, and if any changes had taken place yet. Carefully she pulled the nesting of grass that she had put on the top of each pot and leaned over, her eyes peering into the pots. Nothing. Not a shoot, not a shadow of green, nothing. Perhaps it was too soon.


She sets the pots on a low chest, and uncorks a bota of water and dribbles a few drops into each pot. If there is one thing that this woman has, it is faith. And right now, in her minds eye, she can see the promise of spring in those two simple clay pots. She does not see the barren soil, she sits back and she can see them as they were last season, a riot of blue blossoms. Closing her eyes she can almost catch the fragrance of the blooms.


Opening her eyes, she smiles and leans towards the pots and speaks softly. "Ok, I have faith in you, all I need for you to do is have a little faith in me, that I will water you and tend to you, and when the air is a bit warmer, I will set you outside to catch the rays of the Central Fire."


Lifting to her feet she moved to the flaps and turned to take one last looks at those two simple clay pots that sat on the chest. Right now, to her, they were the harbingers of spring. Smiling, she stepped out and tied the flaps securely, hiding her strange little secret, but for some reason, her heart seemed lighter, and that transferred to her step being lighter, and brought a hum to her lips.


What is it they say......hope springs eternal? She just hopes right now the flowers bloom, for they are special to her.

A Tuchuk With Spring Fever

Even the short move they had made have given most of them itchy feet in a way. It was in their nature to be on the move, to seek the grass, to follow the bosk. And many were longing for the southern grasses. She and Ba'atar had talked of this, or longing to feel the warmth of the Central Fire on their faces, to see the southern grasses blowing gently as the winds passed across them. In some ways, it was far too soon to be thinking of such, but in others, this short move had made them all realize that it was time to start making preparations for the longer journey that hey would undertake before they knew it.



Thinking of the journey south, always brought the field of blue flowers to mind. This time, hopefully, they could share the beauty of it together. Those simple blue flowers had become a talisman of sorts to her, a marker on the path of her life.



Before they were ever mated, before that thought had ever entered her head, they talked far into the night by the fires once, and she found herself telling him about this amazing field of flowers, that were the most beautiful shades of blue, that stretched off into the horizon to meet the blue of the sky. He had told her that he wanted to see these flowers, to see them with her on their way back to the southern grasses.



But it was not to be. That had been an odd trip from beginning to end. She was heavy with Loch's first son, alone, and still missing him. They journey had gotten off to a rocky start, with Fonce going missing, with not everyone leaving the northern grazing grounds at the same time. She never did really understand why those that stayed, stayed. Why they tarried so long. In fact, they had been so far behind, that Ba'atar has became first angry, then concerned and left to go back in search of them. They must have been farther behind than he had thought, for he was gone for a long time.



This was when she realized the oddest thing. She missed him. She missed him terribly, and just didn't quite understand it. But, that was the reason that he did not see the flowers with her that time. She can remember standing at the edge of the field, watching the blue blossoms dip their heads and dance in the wind, and thinking about him.



She had no right to think about him, another had already confessed her love for him, one that was not heavy with child, one that was beautiful and had an allure about her. One that was graceful of movement, sweet of voice, kind of nature. One that he had shown interest in. So at that time, she gazed out over the sea of blue and felt loneliness again. How could she have been lonely for something that she didn't have?



Smiling to herself, she pushed these thoughts away and looked out over the wagons that were beginning to circle again into the temporary camp that they would call home for a few days. So much had happened since that trip, that at time she found it hard to encompass it all into her life. She sat there thinking of how quickly ones' life can change, almost within the beat of a heart. She also wondered just how many of the people that she watched, were feeling that same longing for the south. That were feeling the pull of the grass and the waters there, of flowers, scattered trees, and the warmth of the Central Fire there.


Just how many other Tuchuk had spring fever like she did? How many longed for greener pastures?