Fear

In the night.















Darkness. Total and complete darkness. It was not the dark of the plains on a night when the stars hide behind the thick clouds. There was no sky, no stars, no moons, no grass, no ground, no waters, nothing. She was not even sure if she was standing or lying down, for there was nothing for her to gauge herself on.



Fear invaded her, simply because of the lack of anything familiar. Wherever she was it was devoid of light, sound, smell or even taste. She is a woman that has lived her entire life surrounded by life. Her first fleeting memories are of the sights and sounds of her family wagons. Flashes of color, the sounds of laughter, the aroma of roasting meats, baking breads and even the leather that her mother worked. The smell of the kaiila that always seemed to cling to her father, and the bosk that were such a big part of her world.



She cannot ever remember spending a moment of her life in total silence. Even in the peace of a walk in the darkest hours of the night, there is still the sound of the herds, the laugher of people nearby, the cry of a baby, the hum of an outrider singing to the bosk. Life.



There is none of that here.



Slowly a sound reaches her ears and it take a moment for her to recognize it. It is the sound of her own shallow breathing, then the sound of her pounding heart. Never has either one of them sounded so sweet, but yet frightening at the same time.



She is alone, but yet not alone. Totally blind in the lack of light, she is aware of something there with her, of some sibilant creature near. She cannot see, feel or smell it, but she is acutely aware that it is there in the void with her. And it is growing, changing and she can almost feel it trying to invade her, feel her out, suck what life she is hanging onto out of her. To sever that delicate thread of sanity, to cast her adrift in the void.



Somewhere, her mind tells her to run, to move, but to where, how? She just cannot make the connection between her mind and her body?



When she awakens, the scream that had been held in her throat until it had become painful finally rents the silence of her wagons. The girl sleeping near the flaps bolt out in search of Rook.



There is no mind paid to propriety, he barges into her wagons to find her gulping for air, seeming unable to make that simple life-giving motion. Grabbing her up out of the furs, he begins to pound on her back to try and force her to breathe. Finally, a hard shuddering breath escapes, followed by another, to his relief.



With relief he holds her against his chest trying to calm her, until she is able to whisper.........



I have been with death.

Faith

Faith can be an elusive and difficult thing to hold within your grasp, but she tries. So many things work against it, and at times there is only your heart to work in its' favor. Sometimes the Sky tests you, your faith and your strength, but it is said that if you only have as much faith as the miniscule seed of the wild mustard plant, you can prevail.


There was the time when Fonce had disappeared for several seasons, some thought him dead, even others whispered that he had simply abandoned the Tribe. In her heart, she knew neither of these were true, that he would return. He returned on a cold night in the North. Worn, disoriented, frail and looking a bit older, maybe a little wiser, but he had returned. Faith. Some said that he was not the same, that maybe he was to ill to live, but she had met all of these rumors with a shake of her head. He may be a little more road weary, a little wiser, a little hurt by things that happened to him while he was gone, or thing that happened here while he was gone, but he is still Fonce. She has faith in that.


There was even a time earlier when her mate was gone. When she was carrying their first child, he felt the call to accompany his brothers on a quest. Did she question him? No. How could she, she is a woman and knows that men have to follow what calls them. For all those many moons she waited, and yes she worried, but she never lost faith in him, or in his returning.


He missed the birth of his first son, and yes, she cried. Not for herself, but for him. It was such an important thing, but the will of the Sky had kept him away. Perhaps that is why he has never truly bonded with Also as he has with Two. He was not there to be the first pair of hands that touched the child. He was not there to hear the first cries that broke the silence of the night, to hold the child close to his chest, the tiny body still warm and wet from the cocoon of fluids he had floated in for many months.


With Two it had been different. He had been there to hold her, to lay in the middle of the night speaking to the child that grew inside her. Two probably knew his Father's voice better than any other by the time he came into the world. And Ba'atar has been there to witness the beauty of it, to help draw their Second Son from her womb into the world. And yes, he had heard the first lusty cries, and held the still warm, squirming body to his chest. And there, was the bond. One that was quite clear and unbreakable. Perhaps the Sky willed it, maybe there is a greater plan that neither of them know. As Tarra would say…….much is yet to be revealed.


It has not been easy on her, or on the children. The girls are far too young yet to realize something out of the ordinary is going on in their world. They are warm, dry, fed and just beginning to explore the world, and he is missing it.


Tug has been cast into the role of a man, Another One seems to be adrift, caught between wanting to be a "man" as Tug is doing, and being a six turnings old child and spending his time playing at besting imaginary Turians with his friends, chasing slaves to steal their dung sack and dump them, and all of the other things young Tuchuk boys do.


Also has expressed concerns that his Father has left because of him, because he cannot sing. She has had to try and reassure him, and to explain to him how important this quest was for their people. Does he understand? She has no way of knowing, because he simply turns those solemn dark eyes to her and stares. No nod of understanding, no furrowed brow of confusion, just that almost wise gaze, not a word said.


Two is just that, a little over two, and he does miss his father, but is much easier to distract than the others. However, if he does make a fuss, it is usually at night, around the time to go to his furs. That is when he seems to miss Ba'atar the most. He is definitely his mother's son. Many a night she has lay down with him, humming softly or speaking to him on a low tone, talking about his father until he falls asleep.


She wishes she could find someone to sing her to sleep, to take all of her uncertainties, her fears. She misses him, and sometimes the pain of loneliness and loss, becomes so intense that she cannot breathe. At others, she becomes so angry that she rants, raves, cusses him, the sky and everything around her. One night, she even threw all of his belongings out of the wagon as she cried sobs of anger and frustration. Only to rush out a few ihns later to gather them up, treating each vest, each pair of leathers, each article as if it were some great treasure to not be parted with. And as it has been for a long time, the one there to help her pick up everything, and to offer her tea to calm her is Rook. Ever faithful Rook .


But all of this she does in the privacy of her circle of wagons. She just is not the type to yield to the weaknesses of her emotions before others. If she suffers, she does it alone. For others she smiles, comforts, laughs and lives her life as if there was nothing amiss. It is just how she is. She will not dishonor him by showing any signs of what she perceives as weakness.


There are three that she trusts with her floundering emotions. Rook, and the two that have known her the longest, the two that have their own ways of knowing her and how she is feeling.


She will forge on, but only if the dreams allow it. Right now, they have become a problem. Something that is eating at the tenuous hold she has on her life. Sleep. A nice, restful night of sleep. Something she is craving right now more than food or water.

With A Whole Lot of Luck

For today's work she had chosen Luck as her mount. She had many kaiila, and each of them special to her for different reasons and talents. To say she had a connection with this particular beast would be an understatement. He quite probably would not be here were it not for her.



On her first trip north after gaining her place at the Ubars' fires, she had taken on the responsibility of watching over one of Tayco's mares that was heavy with foal. In fact, he had considered putting the mare down because she seemed to be having problems in carrying her first foal, but she had begged him to let her keep an eye on the poor thing. He had relented, but with certain rules involved. Rules that she did not exactly follow, but that is another story.



At this time, she barely knew her friend Fonce, but had found herself in the predicament of protecting Lyric and her unborn foal. She had stood between his lance and the mare, chin lifted and fully prepared to suffer or maybe even to die, to protect what she considered her responsibility. Perhaps that is when respect had began to grow between her and the man, but she is not sure.



In the end, the foal had been born after a long and arduous birthing, had survived along with his dame. Eventually, she had won that same foal from Tayco in a wager, and named him Luck. She had often teased him that the only reason he mated her was to get the little beast back.



The animal was smart, intuitive and had some of the quickest reflexes she has ever seen in a kaiila. From his frail beginnings, he has grown into a sturdy beast, perhaps not as big as some, but the perfect size for her and what she has trained him for. She had an intuition about him, and had started training him from the very beginning to be what he was now. Many ahn were spent working on those reflexes, honing his skill to almost read the minds of the bosk. As far as she was concerned, Luck was the best cutting kaiila in the entire herd.



Any kaiila can be taught to herd the bosk, in fact all of them were. But, it takes one of a special temperament, with light feet, quick reflexes and a sense of what the bosk is going to do before it even knows. The rider has to be pretty good too. If there is one thing, that she will show personal pride in, it is the fact that she is one of the best riders in the clan, but she had good teachers.



That morning she had carefully picked her way into the herd, and the dance began. Bosk are not the most congenial of creatures and each one of them is stubborn to a fault. To separate a heifer and her calf, is not an easy chore, but a necessary one in order to do the branding.



It becomes a small war between rider and kaiila and the bosk. They will run one way, turn quickly and run another, and this is where Luck's skills came into play. Once she had let him know which one they wanted, it was more or less his show, she was just along for the ride.



Many are amazed at how quickly the bosk can change directions, but more amazed at how the larger kaiila can stay with them. Luck could amazingly shift from one direction to the next, his clawed feet seeming to not even touch the chewed p ground before he switched to stay ahead of the bosk, to keep it from running back into the herd to be lost. And if they ran, he was right there, sometime barely ahead of them and stopping so quickly she had to grasp the pommel of the saddle to keep her seat.



It was a symphony of motion and movement. A fandango between rider and kaiila and the bosk. A thing of beauty if you stopped to watch it unfold.



At the end of the day, Tug had come to her and asked if she would teach him. Smiling she did not reach out to stroke his cheek as she wanted, instead she simply nodded to him as she would any other rider that asked the same question of her.



Now, she just has to find him his own......little bit of Luck.

It is Good to be Tuchuk

She had not slept all that well and had finally decided that tossing and turning was doing nothing more than making her body sore. Rising she had dressed for the day's chore, not in the usual leather skirt, but in a pair of leathers that she had not worn since before she was pregnant with Another and truthfully, they were a bit more snug than she was comfortable with, but she had hopes that in the wearing the grasp of the leather would relax. This she topped with a tunic with sleeves that fit close to her arms. She did not need extra fabric to get in the way of what she had to do today, then she sat on the edge of the platform and pulled on those favorite, well worn boots. The heavy braid was entwined around her head then pinned securely in place. Before she stepped out of the wagon she grabbed an old, flop brimmed leather hat from a peg and tucked her gloves into her belt.



Stepping out onto the platform her head automatically lifts to look at the sky that still held a myriad of stars that twinkled in the dark background of the infinite world they traveled in. Taking a deep breath of the air that held a dampness to it, she finally hopped from the platform and walked towards the fires. The coals were dwindling so she added more chips and soon had a roaring fire going. Going to the slave wagon she rousted the girls from their slumbers to come help her to fix a morning meal. Turning away she had to grin when she heard one of them whisper to juneau that the Mistress had gone mad, that it was still dark out.



Sitting near the fire sipping on that first precious mug of blackwine she was soon joined by the elder oralu that was as much a part of her life as breathing any more. When he crouched next to her, almost as if by magic, juneau appeared with his morning tea. Now, this was somewhat of a secret that they kept. Instead of starting his day with blackwine as so many did, he started it with a large mug of heavily sugared, strong tea. Some might think this odd for a warrior, but it was his preference and he had surely earned having what he preferred.



They sat there drinking and talking in low tones about the plans for the day when she realized another had joined them. Tug stood there, fully dressed and wide awake ready for the day. When did his back become so straight? Where was that insolent slouch that boys seemed to perfect when they were young? He lowered down and when twist brought him a mug of milk his eyes shot to her and he said one word. Blackwine. She will have to give the slave credit, her expression did not change one iota as she nodded and said......Yes Master. Now herself? Well she shot Rook a glance and got that almost imperceptible shake of his head and said nothing. However, her eldest son's face, or how he tried to keep his face straight at the first taste of the bitter brew, was priceless, but still she said nothing.



Now, her son has seen the bosk being branded before. As was their way, they did it twice a turning. It was done soon after they arrived at the southern grounds to brand all of the new calves, then again right before they left for the north to mark the calves that were born during their stay in the south, along with any yearlings that they may miss in the spring, and to mark any that they may have "procured" during the season. But his experience thus far with branding, had been like any other boys, a game of chasing the calves after they were branded, which for some reason held great appeal for the young.



As always, she learned much from Rook as he spoke to the boy, including him in the plans for the day. He actually talked to him as he probably would have talked to Ba'atar or any other warrior. It still tugged at her heart to see him walking the path of a man, had her wishes been known, he would still be tucked safely into his furs asleep beside his brothers. However, even though it pained her in many ways, she would not hinder these first steps that he was taking on the path of manhood. In fact, if any could see her aching heart, they would see pride there alongside the pain.



With their morning meal behind them, the trio walked towards the pens, side by side, as it probably should be. The very first rays of the Central Fire were beginning to chase the darkness away and to turn the sky from black to gray. Soon the brilliant rays would shoot from the nexus of that fiery orb to paint the sky with hues of red, orange, gold and pinks that she has yet to find the words to describe. It was just something that you had to experience, and no matter how many times she viewed it, the dawn always held her in awe with its' beauty.



Kailla were saddled and they rode out into the herds where the outriders were just starting to build the fires that would be used to heat the irons. Iron workers were already there sharpening blades that would be used to notch ears and to make the identifying cuts into the wattles.



Sleepy slaves were already lugging sacks of dung and food stuffs into the area. There would be hard work done, but there would also be time taken for eating, and an almost festive air to the proceedings. She felt that twinge of excitement flow through her, as it always did.



Watching her son go to talk to a group of out riders she had to smile. Today, was a good day to be Tuchuk.

And the moral of the story is...........

Returning to her own wagons, her heart was saddened by several things. Sitting on the platform of her wagon, her knees were drawn up, arms wrapped around them, and the dark head was lowered, her chin resting on one knee. The pain in her heart was sharp, and did not seem to want to go away. The words that were thrown at her tonight, were hurtful, and what made them even more so, is that she felt they were a simple lashing out by someone that she truly did care for. The woman could not say what she wanted to the warrior, so she had chosen Cana as the target of her poisonous tongue.


As she sat there, she remembered a story that her mother had told her once. One that had made an impression on her at the time, but she had almost forgotten in her conscious mind, but perhaps it had lingered somewhere, buried deeper and that was why it was coming to her tonight.


There were once two young women that had been raised together. The wagons of their families had sat side by side for as long as they could remember. They had been born only a few hands apart, and had been friends for as long as they could remember.


One day, the one woman was feeling testy, irritable and was actually angry with something else that had happened that she had no control of. When her friend had tried to talk to her about it, instead of telling her what was weighing on her heart and mind, she had instead taken her frustrations out on the oldest friend that she had, and had said many hurtful things. The look on her friends face as she walked away, made her realize how wrong she had been, but she wasn't sure how to fix it. You see, she was a woman that was weighed down by pride and of her own importance and saying "I'm sorry." was just not something she did often.


She had taken her plight to Maribu, and elder of the spex clan and sought guidance. The old woman told her that she must follow her instructions exactly as they were given to her. The young woman was so distraught of the thought of losing her friend, she promised to follow them to the letter.


Nodding, the old woman then explained what she must do. This was a situation of atonement, and her instructions must be followed. She asked the proud young woman if she still had the fat, fluffy, feather pillows that her mate had brought her from a raid? Yes, she still had them. There was a quiver in the elder's voice as she told her what she must do.

"You will take those pillows, split them open and you will place one feather from the pillows on every platform in the harigga, and it must be done before cock's crow tomorrow morning." At first the young woman thought the old spex was addled, but she agreed to do exactly as she asked.


Through out the night, she went from wagon to wagon and placed one of the delicate white feathers on each platform. It was a typical plains night, the wind howled, the clouds blew across the faces of the moons, to where there were times she worked in shadows. But finally, just before the sky started to lighten with the coming of the dawn, and the cock's around camp began to crow the starting of the day, she had returned to the old spex and told her......"Old Mother, I have done exactly as you asked, what do I do now?"


The old woman opened one eye to stare at her and calmly said, "You will now go and gather up each of those feathers and put them back into your pillows."


A scream of frustration came from the young woman. "What do you mean gather them up and put them back? They were blown away on the winds as fast as I could put them down. It is impossible for me to get them back!"


The old woman turned her rheumy gaze on her and spoke in a clear, calm voice. "And just as it is impossible to put the feathers back into the pillows, it is also impossible to unsay words once you have spoken. You must learn this lesson and remember it. You must always think on your words, especially word that can wound, before you say them. And it is even more important to think on these words when you are talking to someone you love. You can never unspeak them. You have just learned a bitter, but important lesson, I hope."


The young woman walked away with tears in her eyes as she realized what has happened. In a fit of anger and frustration, she had wounded the one person that she had been closest too all of her life. Her feet could not carry her fast enough to her friends wagon to apologize. To say......I was wrong, and I am sorry.


Did her friend accept the apology? She did, graciously, and they remained friends until the first woman was no more, and rode the sky. Yes, they were friends, but there was never the same level of trust and communication between them. That level of unconditional love between the two women was to be no more, and perhaps they both suffered from it.


So, you must always remember........Before you speak, think of your words and the power of them. If there is spite in them, it is often better to swallow that bitter pill, instead of giving it to another.

Such simplicity, that restores so much faith.

They had finally wound their way back to that much used trail back to the southern grasses. Each day she began to recognize familiar landmarks, the way a stream meandered, the roll of small hills and shallow valleys, how the Central Fire came up in the morning and set in the evening. It was just that feel of something well known that lifted her heart and soul. As she began watching these familiar places pass there was an anticipation in her of one special place, that probably meant absolutely nothing to anyone but her. She knew that it was close, very close.


In the gray light of the early morning she had dressed and slipped out of her wagons, needing to be to that place that she knew was near before the herds and wagons had a chance to defile its' simple beauty. It was not unusual to see her walking towards where the kaiila were kept early of a morning. And she saddled her favored beast, just as she did most mornings, but instead of taking him back to the wagon, tethering him to he wheel until everyone else was up, she quietly rode through the lane of wagons and out onto the prairie where the lights were just starting to turn the horizon into a palette of gold, pinks, reds and purples. It was breathtaking, and never ceased to make her pause and simply soak in the beauty of it. It always make her feel very small, but then again, a part of something that was immense and without boundary.


It took little guidance with her hand on the reins to urge Ciegue to pick his way delicately over the grass that was still so wet with morning dew that the blades seemed to be lined with jewels that caught the rays and reflected them back. The farther she rode, she began to hear the silence. There were no sounds of people getting up to start their day. No sounds of the bosk being backed into the traces where they would pull all day to move the wagons along. There were no sounds from the massive herd milling around, looking for grass waiting to be prodded to move out onto the grasses that lay before them.


There was only the sound of the land. She swore that it was a living thing and that she could hear it breathing, inhaling and exhaling the life that was so much a part of it. And occasional sweet song of birds interrupted the song of the earth, accompanied by the gentle winds that caressed the grasses and added their notes to the melody. Already the song of the plains was being formed in her head, one that she would soon put her fingers to, to hear the symphony float from her flute.


Any feelings of sadness, loneliness, or uncertainty took flight with a covey of grouse that fluttered from the grasses to take flight into the morning air. Right now, she felt alive, content and a part of the plains around her. A daughter of the Sky, a sister to the land, a part of all that was around her.


She knew she was being followed. She knew who followed her, and had expected it, but she did not turn back. She was on a personal quest of her own. One that held the same importance to her as any would hold for anyone, whether it be warrior, beast or otherwise. She was drawn to where she was going just as certainly as the birds were drawn to flock either southward or northward at the changing of the seasons.


Cieque picked his way up a small, grassy rise in the land and when they topped it, she stopped him and smiled. The vista that lay before her truly did make her heart sing. In a way, it restored faith in her. Stretched out before her was that field of blue flowers that spoke to her so loudly. Their delicate heads bobbing gently in the morning breeze. Although in one way she was loathe to close her eyes, but she did and sat here and inhaled the sweet, heady scent that drifted from the blossoms. She cannot ever remember a sweeter more seductive aroma.


Sliding from the saddle, the reins were dropped as she took those first slow steps to tread carefully among the flowers. They did not grow that high, just reaching the tops of her worn old boots, the blooms tickling the flesh there, but they were thick, growing close together. After walking, led only by her nose she finally stopped and lowered to the ground, opening her eyes and reaching out to allow her fingers to just barely caress along the almost velvety texture of one stalk of blossoms. As always she was amazed and entranced by the shades of blue that she saw, it was like no other that she knew, and most of the blossoms had green and white tips. Almost as if they were so perfect, that the sky gave them that one flaw, to keep them humble.


She had no idea how long she had sat there just soaking in the beauty of the field of flowers, allowing her memory to drift over conversations about them, of promises made, that have yet to be fulfilled. When the elder warrior crouched beside her, it did not surprise her. Her voice was gentle when she spoke to him.

"They give me a sort of faith. They look so delicate, but they are so strong. Each year they come back in this same place, in this same field with a beauty and an almost dignity that makes me have faith in the cycle of life on these plains. For however harsh they can be, they still allow such beauty to exist upon them in perfect harmony, season after season after season. They are always here every spring, almost as faithful as knowing The Central Fire will light the sky during the day, and the tre-moons at night."


For a long time the man said nothing. He simply looked out over the flowers soaking in their beauty. When he finally spoke, his words were simple and gave her much to think upon.


"There are people that are the same way, delicate, beautiful but strong of heart and character. They never change and are always as predictable, faithful and as loyal as these blooms." Finally he stood and held his hand down to her. "Come, we need to return."


She did not argue, however she did pick some of the delicate blossoms and carried them back to the kaiila where she carefully tucked them into her pack, the blooms spilling over the edge to dance in the breeze. Not too many, only a few so that she could enjoy the aroma and fragrance for just a tiny bit longer. Later that night, she would tuck one blossom behind one ear. She was not one to wear adornments all that often, but tonight she would, and it would be for no one other than herself.

When does a child become a man?

Having made her delivery to Asria's wagon, she had returned to her own and busied herself repairing a couple of halters. Her sewing skill lacked something, but for some reason she always found comfort in the braiding of leather for halters and leads for the kaiila.

It was quiet. The girls were napping, Another One and Two were with Rook working on their bola skills, and Also was sitting under a wagon drawing designs on the ground with a sharp stone that he had found, humming softly to himself. Watching him for a few moments, she found herself wondering what it was he was thinking about. Where her other sons seemed to need the company of others, to almost need that bonding with other males their ages, he found his company within himself and was usually content alone. Just as they say no two flakes of snow are alike, so it is with her children. Each has their own personality. Small nuances may change from time to time as they get older, but the basic of each personality is there.

She had been sitting there allowing the strips of leather to slip between her fingers, thinking, when she realized that her eldest son had walked up to stand beside her. Looking up at him, it was if everything around her went away, and in that instant she saw each moment of his young life of eight seasons of snow, laid out before her in crystal clarity.


The moment of his birth. Tayco lifting him up in dedication to the sky. Even the moment when she was nursing him, and they came to tell her Tayco was dead. Each cry, each fussy night when teeth were being cut, the first time he sat alone with no aid from her, the first tentative steps from one wagon wheel to the next, the first babbled sounds, the first time he had said Mama. All of these moment had been there, then as if caught in a vortex they had all swirled together to become the serious face of her son. The son she still called Tug in her heart.


She asked if he needed something, and he told her that they needed to talk. Talk? She had a feeling this was not going to be one of those…..Mother can I have a honey cake?......talks. He looked far too serious for that. Setting the strips of leather aside, she folded her hands in her lap and told him……talk. And talk he did.
As she listened, the emotions that ran through her were quick and varied. At first she had to press her lips together tightly to keep from almost laughing at how serious he was, then she realized that he was just that…..very serious. He proceeded to tell her that he was ready to step up and take on his responsibility of being the man around their wagons.


What? He is only eight, but she did not say that.


He went on to tell her that he knew that Ayguili was Ubar now in Ba'atar's absence and that he also knew that "she and the children" pretty much meaning everyone but himself, were under the protection and guardianship of Ayguili, but that it was time for him to take on his birthright, as her first son, and take care or her.


Now where in the name of the bosk did he hear that term…..birthright. Is there a birthwrong to go along with it?


He finally sat down cross-legged in front of her and began to lay out his plan. It has only been a few days, and he has a plan? She didn't even have a plan, so how did he get so many steps ahead of her?


Any amusement that she might have felt for a few moments had evaporated. This son of hers, the one still held as a baby in her heart, was talking like a man. He was going to start taking his time in the herds, under the tutelage of Rook, Aamon and his uncle Ephrim. He wanted to spend at least an ahn each day with a clan, to see what they did, for he needed to start thinking about his own clan. He did admit that right now he was leaning towards being a member of the Kaiila Clan, just as his father was. He had then grinned at her……And as my Mother is. Thank the Sky he has not lost all humor.


Rook was going to teach him more about hunting and trapping. They would not go hungry. Did this child actually think they were going to starve? She only nodded and let him continue. Then there were his brothers. He was the oldest and would try to settle their petty squabbles and disputes, and had told them of such. She wonders if that is where Another One got that bruise under his jaw, but she said nothing. He was so sincere in all that he talked about.


Something about all of this gave her pause. She wanted to reach out, gather him up in her arms as she had when he will much younger, rock him and tell him that everything was going to be fine, that Mama was here, and he had nothing to fear. She wanted to tell him that he was only eight, that Ba'atar would probably be back before they even knew his was gone, and that he did not need to be the man of the wagon. He needed to go find his brothers and friends and play a game of Ubar of the mountain, or find that little sphere made from scrap leather and stuffed with sand and do that thing that he did about bouncing it from hand to knee, to thigh to shoulder and back. He needed to go be a child!


Her memory goes back to when she was not much older than he was and her mother died giving birth to Fifth Son, who was now Gabe. Suddenly she was not only without a mother, but also without a father for he almost grieved himself to death, but she also had the responsibility of a baby, that she had no idea how to take care of. She did not want Tug to go through this, and was on the verge of telling him exactly that, when he looked up at her, and said the one thing that stilled her tongue.


I love you Mother, and I don't want anything to happen to you or my brothers and sisters. Well, what do you say to this? What you do is nod and tell him that you love him too, and that you are proud of him, and that you appreciate him taking over the role of the …….man of the wagons. You would cry later, when he would not see.


He had stood and told her that he had work to do and walked off. Watching him, her shoulders had slumped and a wave of pain passed through her heart. There went her son, walking the path to become a man.

Soup, Juice and Love......A Mother's Cure

Rook and the boys had been successful and brought several nice, fat, prairie vulo back for her. Part of them were used to make her vulo and dumplings, but one was set aside for another purpose. This one was cleaned and put into a different pot with very little seasoning. It was cooked until the meat literally fell from the bones. The meat was taken out, and the broth fortified with a roux of verr butter, flour and milk to make it a bit more substantial, but not something that would disturb a delicate tummy. The meat was chopped, seasoned and rolled up in some flatbread, then wrapped snugly.


Rummaging around in the supply wagon she finally found the small crock jars of dried berries. These were boiled then wrapped in a cloth and the juices from them squeezed out into one pot, and the fruit and pits set aside to make a jam out of. The juice was warmed with some sugars until they had dissolved then was put into a crockery bottle with a long, slender neck and corked. Calling twist over, she sent the girl to the stream with the juice, explaining that she had to find a spot to set the bottle where the cool waters would flow around it and cool it, but not in a place where the current would tip it over and send it down the stream. It would stay there until the juice was chilled.



Next she made some honey cakes. Part would be a treat for her children and the rest packed into the basket she was preparing. Next she added a mixture of willow bark tea to a small jar. If Asria could get the poor child to even drink a bit of this tea it might help to bring her fever down.



When all the preparations were done, she packed the small pot of vulo broth into the basket and laid the vulo filled flatbreads in beside it, along with honey cakes wrapped in a cloth, and the jar of tea. Also had been watching her with his usual quiet way and asked if they were going on a picnic. She had knelt down beside where he sat and explained to him that his friend Lei was not feeling well, and they were fixing a basket of things to make her feel better. He had studied her for a long time then tugged on her hand to get her to stand. She really had too much to do to play with him, but she just could not refuse him and went with him.



He was a little man on a mission, and seemed to know exactly where he was going and what he wanted. Climbing up the steps to her personal wagon he kept telling her to come on. Inside, he leaned over that small pot of flowers that they had transported from the plains a few hands ago. Instead of just the two small ones there were now several, sweet blossoms in the pot. He looked up and in almost a whisper said…."For Lei" It almost took her breath away, that even as small as he was, he knew the flowers might make his friends place a little brighter, and he was willing to part with them simply for that reason. She had knelt down beside him, placing a kiss to his head and told him that she thought that Lei would love them, and in fact, they would dress them up a little. From her supply of ribbons, she found a length that was long enough and just the right shade of pink. They tied the ribbon around the pot, made a bow then carried it back outside.



So off they went, walking through the lanes of wagons, her with her basket of food for Asria and Lia, and Also with his treasured flowers which were to be a gift for his friend. At the young year keepers wagons she found an older woman to give the basket to, telling her what each item was and asking her to give them to Asria. Mother and child were both sleeping and she didn't want to disturb them.


Also held up his pot of flowers and said simply.....For Lia, my friend.


With his hand in hers she walked back to her wagons, very proud of her son, just as she was proud of all her children. Hopefully, their simple offerings would not only make Lia feel better, but would also tell Asria that she cared.

The Favored Son of the Sky

When he had come to her, to talk to her of his visit with the haruspex, she felt a great void open somewhere in the core of her being, but she said nothing. She did not question this quest that he was to embark on, nor did she even think to question the advice and counsel of the Spex. This was a man that she trusted more than any other, with the exception of her mate. These two men, the Spex and her mate, were not foolhardy and took the safety and welfare of the tribe very seriously, as did she.



He held her as they talked of the children, the things that he wanted them to learn, the men he wanted them to become, and she listened. This one thing they had always agreed on, the dreams that they had for their children. Both of them had visions of them as being strong Tuchuk. Tuchuk who respected the bosk, the land and the traditions of their people. In his absence, she would not allow the boys, or the girls to stray from that path. It took all the strength that she held within her to not cry, to not show weakness. She would do nothing to make his departure any more difficult that it had to be.



He had told her of the ones that he was to take with him on this journey, so she knew that she was not the only mate, mother, sister, brother or parent that would be hurting this night. But she also knew that there was a great deal of pride that the families of his group would be feeling, knowing that their loved one left on a path that was for the good of their people.



He had gone to spend some time with the children and this was the time that she took to pack for him. Rook brought Tone around along with another animal to carry his belongings. Each set of leathers, each vest, each tunic was packed with loving hands. But still, she did not cry, there was too much to do. Provisions were also added to the pack beast, food and water to start them on their journey. She even tucked a small jar of honey into one of the bags, perhaps not because he had any sort of partiality to it, but as a reminder of home.



She sat down and took a slim length of green leather and carefully lifted her braid, pulled some strands of her hair free and sliced through them with a quiva. The hair was tied with the thong of leather, and tucked inside his pack. No mater where he went, he would be taking a part of her. No matter where he was, she would be with him in spirit, always loving him.



Although he tried to hide it, there was a redness to his eyes when he came from seeing the children. She did not mention it, she had that respect for him. Gathering her into his arms, he seemed to inhale deeply of her scent, as if committing it to memory. And, when they finally came together, it was gentle, sweet, and with a sense of longing that carried them to their fulfillment. He held her for a long time, until the first cocks began to crow the awakening of the Central Fire. She helped him to dress, running her hand over his chest for the last time and lifting her head for his kiss, whispering....."I love you, and I will be here when you return."



He had gotten that damnable grin and promised to bring her flowers and she shook her head and told him to not worry about the flowers, to just come back to her. He turned and grinned and called back. "Woman, the Sky loves me. I will return."



She had stood on the platform as he rode to meet with his companions for the journey. He looked back only once, and she lifted her hand to wave to him, and he rode on. She stood there for a time, then literally jumped from the platform and ran through the lanes of wagons until she was at the edge of the harrigga. She needed one last glimpse of him. One last look at that strong, straight figure that sat the kailla so well. She stood in the shadow of a wagon, not wanting him to see her as she watched the bosk part before them, almost as if they knew that the riders were special in some way.



When they had disappeared from view, that is when she cried. She slumped against that wagon and gave vent to her tears. Strong arms went around her, pulling her closer and she found herself crying into the chest of that elder warrior that was so much a part of her life. Rook let her cry, then lifted her chin and looked into her eyes and reminded her of who she was, and what was expected of her, which she already knew.



Lifting her chin, a hand moves to dry the tears from her eyes and she walks back towards their wagons. She would not dishonor Ba'atar by allowing anyone to see her cry. She was strong, she would be fine. She would devote this time to their children and work. Lots of hard work. And she would try not to count ahn, or days. She would not dishonor this man that she loved with all that she had.



She would do as women have done since the beginning of time, she would wait. She would live her life, raise her children, work, and she would wait. She would smile, she would laugh, and she would wait.