When a woman is depressed or upset, one of the best things she can do for herself, to regain some balance is to pamper herself. This is not something she does often, not from lack of wanting to, but often from lack of time. She has six children, that she basically raises on her own, she is the head of a large clan, that demands her attentions, and she is trying to serve Ayguili as Ubara, to the best of her abilities. She would not give up any of what she does, but she is human, she is a woman, and occasionally there comes a time when she had to step back, and take care of herself.
Most of the women that she knows are hard workers, it is just the way of life on the plains. The are not like those dweller women who stay behind walls, letting slaves tend to their every whim, or depending upon men to take care of everything for them. There are many around like her, that have learned the path of hard work when they were very young, and walk it daily.
For her, it started when she was barely twelve years old. Her mother died giving birth to her youngest brother, and suddenly she was thrust into the role of being the woman around her family wagons. Ill prepared? Oh Skies, yes! But, there was this stubbornness in her that went a long way to help her to learn, and perform her duties. She had her father, four older brothers and a baby to take care of. She managed to do it, and took a great deal of pride in doing it.
And the experience went a long way into making her who she is today. Independence is something that she holds very dear. Being self-sufficient is as much a part of her as how she walks, talks and goes about her daily life. She is not one to ask much of anyone. Does she grouse and complain about her life? She hopes not. What is there to complain of. It is simply a way of life, one that she clings to and enjoys for the most part.
Lowering into the tub of hot, scented water a sigh slips from between her lips. One of contentment. She could feel the stress of what happened earlier in the day, begin to leave her, floating above her head on the scented steam. It was not just the confrontation with Karvek, but other things.
She and Fonce have been friends for a very long time. Some do not exactly understand the depth of what they have, but it seems to work well for them. And today, after taking the after-effects of the paga into consideration, she could tell that there were things weighing heavily on him. She has a clue or two as to what some of them are, but she will not make assumptions. Maybe that is one of the things that make their friendship work. The honesty that passes between them. Sinking lower into the water, she makes herself a promise to seek him out, just to talk.
Taking the soap, she begins to wash enjoying the smell of the soaps that Tarra makes for her. She notes the small callouses on the palms of her hands. Some would probably consider them unattractive, but they are a part of her. One does not work with the kaiila, and not get them. Inspecting them, she smiles. Callouses or not, these are hands that soothe the forehead of a fevered child. Hands that can gently touch, and make the bad things go away, simply by their touch. They are her hands. Hands that love, hands that work, hands that sometimes tell the one that she touches, that she cares.
Those same hands rub the soap over her body, a body that has changed over the years. It is not the same body she had when she was seventeen. It has bore six children. Carried and succored them until they were ready to come and meet their world. It is not as taut across the middle as it once was, and it bears the marks of carrying children. She no longer has a girls body, but the body of a woman. One with softer curves, one that is maybe stronger, more resilient.
A soft laugh comes from her as she thinks back to when she was younger, more angular, and much less graceful. You have to laugh when you think back on those days. To her, it seems as if she was nothing but arms and legs for most of her life. Much like a kaiila foal, that has not quite learned how to manage those limbs. But she also likes to think, that just like the kaiila, she has grown into womanhood, and her body very well.
Standing she allows the water to sluice off her before stepping from the tub into the towel that juneau holds for her. Looking down at the leg that had stepped from the tub, she smiles. Some things do stay the same. Her legs were more muscular than some, due to the hours spent riding and training the beasts. She startles the slave by laughing. When the girl gives her a curious look, she simply tells her that no one will ever be able to accuse her of having fat ankles.
Sitting, wrapped in the towel, she allows the girls to get as much water from her hair as they can, before they rub scented oils into it, and begin to try and comb the tangle of curls into a braid.. Perhaps this is just a day for reflection, because as they work, her mind wanders again to how she was when she first came to these fires. At how naive and shy she was. How unprepared and alone. That same naivety was what had learned her the nickname of.....The Tabuk.
How time and life have changed her. She no longer has that same innocence, but she would like to think that what has taken its' place is strength of character, and knowing of who she is. She is definitely not one of those fiery woman that are able to voice their opinions loudly and without reserve. Sometimes she does have a twinge of envy, but it does not last long. She is content in who she is. Perhaps she is quieter than some, but that is just how she is. Who she is.
The girls manage to get the braid curled around her head in a coronet, held by the pins that she had often seen her mother wear. Even to this day, she misses her mother, and an ache of loneliness stabs at her heart for a moment. When juneau holds up the clothes, her brow lifts, still a bit unsure. The girls both encourage her, telling her that she is beautiful, and the vest and skirt are just a topping.
Color flares on her cheeks. She has been told before that she was beautiful, but it just was not something that she had much confidence in. She has never been vain when it came to her looks, and she has no idea why. She has never been the type to work on the trappings of ribbons and beads and colors that supposedly compliment, or that sort of thing. Did she notice these on others? Of course she does. Almost daily. She notices them, and there are times when she feels a bit dowdy next to them. A bit like a weed that has invaded a field of flowers, but she does not change who she is. She stays simple. She stays Cana.
Donning the skirt, she takes the vest in hand and looks around to ask for her tunic to wear under it. Juneau busies herself and tells her that they did not bring a tunic, that she would be fine in the vest without one. It was the vest that Ba'atar had made just before he left, and for that reason alone it was difficult for her to put it on, but she did. She felt so exposed, and found herself trying to tug the leather to hide that which was exposed, only to find herself fighting the hands of the slave, who grinned at her, and told her to relax, the vest looked fine, all of the essential parts were covered. You do not just give into a slave, and she tries her best to glower at this one, but ends up laughing, and patting the girls cheek. What she would do without this creature, she has no idea.
It was twist that holds up the small, framed piece of looking glass. For a moment, she was shocked. Who is this woman? She ain't have bad to look at. But most importantly, in that moment, she felt good about herself, maybe seeing what others see, that she usually ignores.
Stepping from the wagon, she walks towards the main fires, a cloud of scented air surrounding her. Yes, she felt good, very good. The cares of the day were forgotten, and she looked forward to relaxing with those that she loved.
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