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.
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.
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