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.
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