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.