After dozing intermittently all morning, she had finally had enough. Sitting up, she reached for the mug of cooling tea and sipped from it, her nose wrinkling. Blackwine. She found that she had an almost manic craving for the hot, dark, bitter brew. When one of the slaves came in, she asked for it. Slaves are funny creatures sometimes. They are supposed to do you bidding, without reservation or question. There was this brief flicker of fear on the girls eyes, then she slowly shook her head, and told the woman that she had been ordered that she was to get only the teas, milk and water, nothing stronger, by the healer. Well, bosk dung. She could have pressed it, threatened to beat the girl, sell her off, have her thrown to the sleens, but would that have gotten her blackwine? Probably not. She sent the girl away with the tea and asked for water. Just plain, cool water. As the girl ducked out between the flaps, she had given another order.......She wanted a bath!
It was not long before juneau returned with a bowl and a bota of cold water. As she squirted the water into the bowl, then lifted it to her Mistress, she said that the others were bringing a tub to her, and she could have her bath. She wasn't really dirty, for they had kept her clean while she was asleep, but she felt dirty, maybe from the memories of where she had been, and needed a bath, to maybe wash those memories away. The filth, corruption, death, anger and fear still seemed to cling to her. Whether or not she would be able to was them away, she did not know, but she was damned sure going to try.
Before long the wagon was a flurry of activity. The copper tub was brought in, then there was a steady stream of girls with pots of boiling water. Oils were added, the soaps brought in, clothing laid out for her. Juneau had laid out the vest that Ba'atar had made for her, and a skirt. Shaking her head, she told the girl to put the vest away, that she never wanted to see it again, and to bring one of her older tunics.
When she put that first toe into the tub, she drew it back quickly. The water was hot. Slowly she sunk the toe in again, then just as slowly, her whole foot, stopping to allow herself to become accustomed to the heat of it. One of the girls quickly ran out to get a bucket of cooler water, and poured it in, swirling it around with her hand, apologizing for the temperature. Irritation was heavy on her, but she took a deep breath and told her it was fine. Finally she sank down into the water with a sigh, and just sat with her eyes closed, letting the steam to waft around her. Juneau had herded the others off, but stayed to help her if needed.
After soaking for what seemed like forever, she had sat up and juneau began to pour ewers of water over her head, then to soap up her hair. There are few luxuries that she allows herself, but this was one of them, her bath and having this girl do her hair. There is magic in the girls fingers as she massages her scalp, releasing the tensions there. Juneau is not one to prattle, which also makes her a favorite, but today she did choose to talk mentioning how much weight Mistress had lost.
She has? This was news to her, but she looks down, and realizes that she can see the shadows of her ribcage beneath the skin. When had this happened? She must have looked confused as she held an arm up, to stare at it, then lifted the other arm, the fingers on that hand moving to gently trace the knobs of bones on her wrist. Well, damn. This just would not do.
Juneau stood and held a hand out to her for support so that she could step out of the tub. Was this loss of weight why she was feeling a little unsteady on her feet? The girl wrapped the sheet of toweling around her, then guided her to sit, and began to carefully oil and comb out her hair. She took back up the threads of her conversation, explaining that even before Mistress had fallen ill, she had not been eating right, but that hopefully, that would change now.
Sitting there with her eyes closed, she found herself enjoying the attentions more than usual. Each pull of the comb through her hair, could be felt deep inside her. And she took comfort in the words of the slave, words of concern and care. In a way, this simple thing helped her to deal with that gnarled thread of emotions that were turning and twisting inside of her. She did not have the time right now, nor the strength to deal with them. There were more important things to attend to.
People were already arriving, bringing food, leaving messages of support and condolence. She has been here before, and knows that she has to gather her senses around her, to be able to deal with them. There would be time later to sort through the emotions and thoughts that haunted her. Right now, she had to find the strength, to be Cana, to be able to deal with those that she knew cared for her. She had to be strong.
Her hair was braided into two long, serpentine lengths, then the girl entwined them into a coronet around her head and placed the pins to hold them. One hand lifts to touch the head of one of them. They had been gifts from her mother, pins that had held her own braids at one time. They were a special keepsake, one that she drew peace from.
She ended up dressed in a soft, flowing dress, almost the color of churned butter. One she had not worn in a long time, because with all of the pregnancies and what not, it had not fit. But now, it did not fit in another way. Now it hung from her slender frame, but it too would just have to do.
Steeling herself, she stood with juneau's support and walked out onto the platform of her wagon. The day was dreary, overcast with the threat of rain. At first, she was taken aback by what she saw. There in the ground around her wagon, were candles of all sizes. For a moment, this puzzled her, then she looked beyond the candles to the people standing in small groups around her fires.
The realization of what was happening, came to her slowly. She is not the only one that has suffered a loss, they had too. The other families, but then again the tribe as a whole. They had lost their favored son, the one many still called Ubar. The candles were symbols of their grief, offerings of respect. She was not the only one grieving, the entire tribe was, and they needed a place to go and congregate to allow the grief to take form. They needed a grieving place.
Smiling, she nods her head then slowly sits down on the platform of her wagon and begins to take visitors, knowing that in a way, this is her last official action as Ubarra. Her duty was to give them a place to put their feelings. Her duty was to allow them to lay the burden of them at her feet, so that they could feel they have done what was right, what makes the pain to lessen somewhat in their hearts and minds.
Through the rest of the day, she sat, speaking to this one, reaching to gently touch another, giving respectful thanks for the gifts of food. Her own grief and emotions were tucked away, to be explored at another time.
Today, for one last time.......she was their Ubara.
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