However much

don't tell them, they'll only drink your tears
don't do it, not in a hundred years
you know it, you feel it, I do too, just listen
something is calling you
what difference do you think that it makes
if you give or if its you who takes
i know it, i feel it, you do too, just listen,
you'll hear it calling you
what difference do you think that it makes
if you give or if its you who takes
i know it, i feel it, you do too, just listen,
you'll hear me calling you
~Norah Jones

I really didn't want him to see the discoloration under my chin, nor hear the gravel sound of my voice but I was not going to hide from him either. However, whatever was going to happen would happen. I will admit I was braced. He asked a simple question and I stuck to the basic facts. It did surprise me when I heard his answer. He'd heard nothing of it so the matter must be resolved.

He will send me off to serve others but he doesn't say anything when I return. I feel like a puppy following him around and I almost left a wet trail when he tousled my hair. That was the second time he caught me off guard. Usually I close one eye and grimace when someone does that, not this time. This time I leaned in closer bridging that few horts more. raven was talking to him about decorating the wagons and the bosk, so it was as good a time as any to spill about the spill. Three for three, he left me floored. He wasn't angry, just let me know the rules about respecting his things.

I get it now. A Tuchuk man's wagon is his "ride.' That made having been able to wash and polish it once before fit into a whole new category. I had walked away from that inside spot, being able to do things for him, with him. I would cherish being able to have it back. I had a good reason but still ... until I could get a chance to talk to him, he would never really know why. I just can't say hey ... I want to talk to you, leave all the free people here behind and divert your attention to me. I don't want to drag him away from someone that needs him. He is an important man. I don't ever forget that. I care for him and I respect him. I respect his position. I respect what he means to our people. Too I respect them. How ever much I want to on the inside, it may never be something I will feel comfortable doing. More of that southern breeding ... respect and manners. I know that sounds strange here among such a passionate, fierce people. I will always knock before entering, remain quiet while someone is talking, pass the salt to the next one at the table. It isn't insecurity, it's just being polite. That isn't going to change.

raven did one of those military volunteer jobs on me by the way. Everyone who wants to help take a step forward .. then everyone else takes a step back. Yep, I was the one left standing out front. I don't mind. I like the idea. I am all about decorating even if it is wooly four footed creatures with shaggy ears. I got all excited. Shoot, I am still excited. We could put some of my bells on them. He was quick to say not on their feet, that would drive him insane. I had to smirk on the inside. So he had noticed. I may be blonde but I am not stupid. Ears it will be then.

I had meant to say thank you. Thank you for not killing me, thank you for letting me be close once and for letting me be at least a little close again. I wanted to say thank you for not being angry with me, thank you for letting me help with the bosk and the wagons. Too I wanted to say thank you for sharing that smile, the laughter with me and breeching a distance with a simple touch that somehow said things weren't so bad. Giving gifts hadn't worked out too well, so next time I saw him, maybe I could just flash my kalmak open and yell it.

Yeah, like I am brave enough to do that. I should start with something simpler .. like ... well I will think of something.

Oh, and one of the Mistresses gave us a lesson on bosk feet. They do have toes, two of them. We get to make little leather .. shoes ... slippers .. whatever for them. I got this great idea, I could make puffy balls out of soft thread to put on the ends. Bosk Booties! Or on their ears for when it gets cold. Bosk muffs! No, that sounds ... well you know.

In the meantime, I have become this chatty little thing that just can't seem to shut up. I guess all that was behind the silence was catching up and now everything was just spilling over.

Paint your wagon ... Part Three

Now, the kaiila Master treated me more like a kid sister than he did anything else. We always knew I was slave and he was a Master but he has such an easy going manner beneath all that vain arrogance, I never seemed to be a threat to him. All that just wasn't very comforting right this moment. The tension between the two of them was even greater than what I felt personally from the outrider, and that is an understatement. It wasn't about me and the one behind that squeezing grip any more. He had never trusted Ts'ya, not even a little. Suddenly, it was all about a long standing dispute between the two men and now I was caught in the middle. Tuchuk do not take the blood of another Tuchuk, but that wasn't very consoling at the moment either.

"She displeases me. She is worthless. Nothing." I found that leaning my head to one side gave me a fraction of gap to drag in half a breath. I was doing that scream inside .. I am not nothing! But no one could hear it. Even to me it sounded far away, frail, echoing.

I could hear the prayers of a fool somewhere too. Hold on girl. Hold on.

That grasp was easing the slightest bit as Ts'ya's glance left mine to follow the kaiila Master. The kaiila Master seemed so cool, calm and collected as he leaned a shoulder against the wagon, his arms folding over his chest like this was just a quiet little how do you do at a fence post. "What has she done that displeases you so much, you would put an end to her?"

Good question. I wanted to hear that answer myself though my opinion could only come out as a wheeze at this point. "She does not ... look at me the way she does him. She does not .. want me the way she does him." It still didn't make any sense to me. Why did he hate me for that?

Vao just laughed. "Then she is probably missing your obvious charm. Why do you not take her to him and tell him why you are so displeased with her. I am sure he will find a suitable punishment. No use dirtying your blade over ... nothing."

I felt that clutch tighten enough to make my eyes pulse then the next thing I knew I was flung half beneath the wagon. All that pretty jar of red paint splattering the wheel I'd kept warm during this time. "Never mind. She is not worth my time"

Frozen in place, I could only watch the boots storm off down the rows of wagons. As I watched them disappear in the distance, I knew I had been given a blessed reprieve. There was nothing to actually stop the outrider from sending me back to my creator if he had decided to. The kaiila Master had known this too. When I did dare to look up, Vao was staring down at me .. no smile, no are you alright, just one of those narrowed glints. What had I done wrong? Why was he mad at me too? He never said another word just turned and walked away in the opposite direction.

The paint!

It was dripping off the wheel and onto the ground. Now ... HE was going to kill me for spilling paint, for having displeased a Master, for not asking if I could make something pretty on his wagon ... maybe for just being worthless like Ts'ya said I was.

I began trying to scrub to get it all off the wheel when the flood gate opened. and inside the tears I was still screaming ... I am not ... nothing!!!! I am bell. I am Leonette. I am Tuchuk.

No one could hear it. Even to me it sounded far away, frail, echoing. In the silence, I felt so alone.

Paint your wagon ... Part Two

That glare had only grown harder, colder, more intense ... becoming deadly now as it bore down on me. I shrank back against the wheel trying to find more breadth between us. My eyes shot in both directions trying to judge whether I could run fast enough to get away. All I could see was the width of his palm coming straight at me, feel the iron grasp of it as it circled my throat, pinching the Turian steel along the tender parts of my flesh, closing off the airway and leaving me strangled ... for words, for reasoning, for breath.
I don't know why Ts'ya hated me or why I was always so frightened of him. I couldn't stand to be close to him. I could never bring myself to offer service more than obligatory. I am a slave and should be able to give to any and all that had need of me but I just could not find any passion in doing this for him. Can you understand? I simply could not bring myself to fake it. He would always touch my hair then growl, shoving me away in distaste. His hatred of me though had started long before though. It had started at the stake when he cut the ropes that held me there. No, it had been just after when I was placed in a collar. It had grown into something solid, something you could feel in the air, you could taste it like the metallic taste of a copper bit. I could barely see the flash of his blade as he drew it from its sheath. I sought his eyes. It was there I stared into a black abyss so distant that there was only emptiness, ugliness at its bottom.

The sound of someone clearing their throat nearby didn't disturb the lock of gaze. When the other voice spoke, I found no saving grace in its familiarity. It was the kaiila Master. "What's up Ts'ya?"

Paint your wagon Part One

Why Don't You Love Me like you used to do
How come you treat me like a worn out shoe
My hair's still curly and my eyes are still blue
Why Don't You Love Me Like You Used To Do
~Hank Williams

The healer said she would allow me to paint her wagon. She liked the idea of the little yellow flowers I'd wanted to put on it too so off I went to get the paint, the brushes and begin the task. By the time I finished there were enough of the bright little blossoms peeping out from whimsical stalks of grass along the side to make a bouquet. One small one in the corner I even painted a face on, one with a big bright smile. I hoped she would like them. I know I enjoyed putting them there for her.

It gave me another bright idea. I could paint something on the side of his wagon too. Maybe not a huge mural but a cameo in a corner ... sort of near the back ... somewhere. Gathering up the paint I made a bee line for it. I even looked around for that .. that .. new slave of his. Nope, no where to be found. Good.
I don't really know where the image came from, I could just see it in my head and it began to unfold in vivid colors on the canvas. A small eggshell lay broken open near the bottom amidst a background of dark blue almost black. From within two butterflies took flight upward across the side of the wagon. One was a rich red with mottled red and black wings, the other smaller came to life in the same bright yellow I'd put on the Mistress wagon. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted it to be a nice surprise when he saw it.

The finishing touches were being added when I felt .. yes felt him behind me. I felt his stare like it could cut right through me. I felt his breath hot and chilling at the same time as if it were right there against the back of my neck. It made the fine hairs there stand straight up. That instant terror. I tried to close my eyes and wish him away, but when they opened again he was still there, I was still there. I couldn't will myself to vanish this time. When I tried to stand up and turn around, I was shaking. Shaking so bad that the jar of red paint I had in my hand rattled the paintbrush against the rim.

The gift that keeps on hopping

I talk to the trees But they don't listen to me
I talk to the stars But they never hear me
The breeze hasn't time To stop, and hear what I say
I talk to them all In vain
But suddenly, my words Reach someone elses ear
At someone elses heart Strings too
I tell you my dreams And while you're listening to me
I suddenly see them Come true
I can see us some April night Looking out across a rollin' farm
Having supper in the candlelight Walking later, arm in arm
Then I'll tell you How I pass the day
Thinking mainly how The night would be
Then I'll try to find The words to say
All the things you Mean to me
I tell you my dreams And while you're
Listening to me I suddenly see them Come true
~ From Paint Your Wagon


The search for something more tangible to give brought this bright idea. What was one of the things he didn't have? Something no one else had given him? It seemed like a bright idea at the time. It took a while to find just the right one. He had long spindly legs that dangled when you held him, a nice even green coloring, big googly eyes that to me had a world of expression in the glassy green blue blackness and a flat line little mouth that reminded me of Stan from the comedy duo with Ollie. When I rubbed his throat he crooned a nice little song. It was the same tune he would always sing when just before the rains came. It did seem like a nice gift at the time, so holding him tucked in the flap of my chatka I went straight to the fires.

My heart did a double gainer when I saw him. Yes, I'd seen him before this moment, while he slept, when he ... soooo. This would be the first time he'd seen me since ... anyway, I went right up to his furs and knelt just like nothing in the world had ever come between us.

So he looks at me and asks ...

What do you wish of me?

I wanted to jump up and throttle him, pull his hair out, I wanted to pull my own hair out, scream .. "damn, I told you that long time ago .. just listen for once!" And I did, on the inside.

Does everyone want something of him, so much so that he has to ask what it is rather than just accept that someone enjoys his company and wants to ... give? It made me sad. It made me mad. ... He makes me mad. Why do I keep trying? Why should I even care? It still baffles me why but I just do. Instead, I just repeated something he had told me the day that ... nevermind. I thought he might want someone to 'beat for being the fuck about', though I did paraphrase it from the original just a touch.

Ever notice how when you are waiting on someone to say something ... anything ... in those moments that time just creeps by like you have an eternity at your disposal? He didn't cuff me and send me tumbling off the furs. He didn't end me right then and there for being impertinent. He just said he didn't need anyone for that right that moment. Sounded good to me. I could wait right there until he did and I didn't budge. Not a single hort. It was a start, wasn't it?

Might as well go a step farther, closer, nearer than the country mile we had hanging there in limbo. I gave him my little gift. Well, I tried to. It wasn't that he didn't accept it. He never actually said yes or no. I took it as a good sign. That and the fact he was able to meditate while I was there next to him but it did leave me sort of stuck there with this wriggly, long legged googly eyed creature extending out in my hands. That was about the same time, he took a flying leap. No, not him, ... the frog. I ended up chasing after the little green escapee that pounced off me and a few others there like a nice bank shot in a game of pool, yelling ... come back here! You are supposed to be a gift.

The last anyone saw of either of us was the lasting impression of my bottom diving under a wagon after the frog. Not exactly the effect I had hoped for.

The lesson learned from all of this? Frogs do not make good gifts. Stupid frog.

Velvet Streamers

~ purple mountains majesties
The day before had been nice and toasty warm though the temperature dropped during the night while the dew was rising. It gave everything a coating of creamy softness that I've always called a white night. I was walking in the moist morning on my way to get fresh water when it just seemed the view opened up for me. Its always been there. I've passed it a kazillion times. So has everyone else but the misty blanket made it come alive. Mountains in the background that usually disappeared into the colors of the sky looked like delicate layers of mauve, purple and a deep blue. The rolling vapors seemed to twine them in velvet streamers. I stood there mesmerized, breathless for a long time. I even felt tears touch my lashes it was so beautiful.
It was a low trumpet of exaled breath that diverted my attention. While I was absorbed in the view of the landscape, two bucks had wandered into the shoals of the stream in an age old rite of dominion. I could almost feel that first crashing strike of horn against horn run through me. The shedding of the summer coat on the branches of their horns left trails of brown ribbons waving in the air with each movement. Their posture would begin sleek, streamlined with their necks elongated, chests puffed up with ... do tabuk have testosterone? They looked like two old country gentlemen when they bowed their heads. "After you" ... "no, I insist after you". There really wasn't anything civilized about it. It was raw pure battle for dominance that would ram the foreheads together. The horns resounding in a deafening crunch, I was sure would wake the rest of the harriga.
Set against this backdrop of soft pastel hues, they seemed larger than life. It was natures cake with lots of icing. I wanted to cup it all up in my hands, try to wedge my fingers together tight so none of it could seep between them and take them to ... Yes. Wouldn't it have been a wonderful gift, to be able to have seen it, to have been able to feel how majestic it was.

Fertile Soil

I breathe you in the dark.
Your flavor still vexes my pallette.
You haunt every cell of my body.
I know I can never forget.
Dark destiny is set.
Your crystalline eyes ever linger
On my vision wherever I gaze.
For a moment my spirit was halcyon.
Now it darkens to shadow and haze.
Envelloped in desolate grays.
In my barren chest you planted seeds
From rock, somehow, one grew.
But without the sunlight of your smile
The fruit would wilt, I knew.
So I let it stay with you.
In banishment I wander now,
Through empty pergatory.
But I won't fear or fade from fate.
I shared a momentary glory.
A wistful end can't desecrate
Our paradisic story.

~GuilePhoenix

Climbing the walls

I'm tired of being careful
I'm sick of staying home
Take a right, take a left,
I don't really care
It doesn't matter where we end up
Baby I can love you anywhere
I will be a waitress,
you could work on cars
Find ourselves a koa
and sleep underneath the stars
Just living and a loving
Cause I'm tired of being careful
I'm sick of staying home
Baby, don't say no
Show me the other side
of the great unknown

Something there is that doesn't love a wall

I'd walked up upon a gathering of freewomen by the stream but I didn't plunder into the midst of them. Instead I remained on the fringes. There can be a closeness among women that is revered. Sisterhood. I watched for a while from the rise on the hill not daring to intrude on the sacred bond. It was only after the others left Falon by herself that I approached.

Palla could talk enough to make one eyelid twitch ready to close. Astar spoke very little but always had little gems of wisdom to offer when she did. But Falon is the only one of the freewomen that talks to me. seeks to probe beneath the bondage to the woman inside. When she began talking of him, I hid my discomfort of the topic to listen. How she feels is no secret. It is tangible in the air as mists rising off the stream. We teased a bit about his stubbornness. I asked her point blank if she had a potion for that.

It was more than curiosity but a willingness to learn more of him. She sought insight.

The heart and mind are similar to the body; They can live and grow, They can be wounded and healed, They can wither and die. We gather the wounds, the scars in our hearts and minds like stones. One stone upon another until they form a wall... one that can keep our emotions in or one that becomes our protective shield like a scab .. one that keeps others out.

I see what you are saying said the blind man for my eyes have been opened, but I still cannot see what you are speaking of for I am still blind

Regardless of how I tried to expose what few crumbs I saw, felt, understood, there seemed to be this dark spot in her vision she could not see through. It provided an interesting inner turmoil within. There I was honestly trying to bring another woman closer to him despite my own feelings.

Too I felt the talons of the larl surge, curl, extend, glistening in the light though they remained poised. One moment of weakness and they could have slit wide and deep as easily as those that had ripped into my back. One moment of dawning and they would have forever been there as defense to protect that creation of unity. Neither came.

My own confession that I missed him picked at a loose thread of melancholy. Quickly I twined it back in on itself before it could continue to unravel. I changed the subject. I shared with her that there was an enjoyment in bringing her blackwine. I would whether I was free or slave. It was what people who were close did where I had come from. Share. A steamy mug of ... something and a piece of cake was what friends did.

But ...

When he was there I could not ... No , truth was I did not want to know anyone else existed. Everything, everyone else disappeared, leaving him as the center of my universe. I knew it angered some. It did touch me when she said that was because they could not see my heart.

Now the race is on and here comes Pride in the back stretch, Heartaches going to the inside

It was tease, it was taunt, it was honest when I said I would race her over the wall. We agreed to pack a lunch and bring a first aid kit. We were going to need them.

I wonder if she understood the predatory nature of the challenge.

Golden Slumbers

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles await you when you rise.
Sleep,
pretty baby,
Do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.

Cares you know not,
Therefore sleep,
While over you a watch I'll keep.
Sleep,
pretty darling,
Do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.

Shirking my responsibilties is not common for me but today chores were ignored for something far more important. Forging beyond the beaten paths of the stream I was led by instinct or maybe intuition.

Past a tangle of vines with amber trumpets that woke twice a day. Little heads that followed the movement of La Torvis before they weary and close to sleep again. Farther than the thicket of reeds that house a myriad of aquatic and amphibious life forms. I wound my way through the shower of little puffs that not so long been brilliant purple pom poms that now shed seed pods into the breeze like a snowy blizzard of cotton balls. I found my spot on a little rock hidden within the tall grass to keep my vigil. Today it did not hold a predator, just a petite little stalker with good intentions ... me.

A salamander with a playful nature essed his way beneath and over fallen leaves. He'd stop now and then to peer up at me as well as turn to look at another half restless soul not far away. Otherwise his trek was simply to munch on a juicy morsel of gnat or noseeum or just bask in the warmth. Rays from the sun a healing compress of heat so lanquidly delicious, I found myself doing what the my slinky little pal did ... I just soaked it all in. But here I kept my watch, singing softly and letting the lullabies carry in the breeze along with those snowy seeds.

It would have been a selfish thing to disturb the peacefulness any more than that and for once I truly wasn't thinking of me.

On a cloud

The peacock's hue within the ringlet's fall,
The dark-eyed glances of the startled fawn,
The suppleness of vines in limbs, the moon's
Full roundness in the face — your playful scorn
In eyebrows tells me you combine them all.
With mineral dyes I've drawn you in this feint
Of anger at me when in truth the stone
Should show me at your feet, my eyesight filled
With tears. How hard a fate that won't condone
The warm reunion I long to paint.
When he who would embrace you only sees
His virtuous at distance, and appears
To outstretched arms an ache or emptiness,
The woodland deities are sad: their tears
Are swollen tenderly to pearls in trees.
The winds from Himalayan snows that blast
Their way on southwards to the air have lent
The smell of opened pine trees' oozing shoots.
Let me hold you, worthy one, whose scent
Has come assuredly from bodies passed.
How can the night's extended watches shrink
Or all the days be cast in moderate heat?
But in this manner, with unsteady eye,
The sights petitioning for my defeat,
In pain and helplessly of you I think.
I live by brooding on you. Do not feel
Excessive grief for me, my tender one.
Unending pain and joy are no one's lot,
But always upwards, downwards we are spun
About the felly of life's turning wheel.
When Vishnu rises from his serpent bed
The curse had ending, which is four months hence.
My soul's desire, now close your eyes, and think
How love's long parting brings its recompense
In moonlight falling through that night instead.
Kalidasa - Excerpt from Meghaduta

Morning kissed my cheeks and I lay there watching the dawn emerge in its full granduer. No congering of a merry song, no force of grease paint smile. Just the silence of liquid emotion undamming rivers along the sides of my cheeks. Unstaunching the flow while the parting of a cloud allowed the light to shine through. One ihn in time so intense that I struggled to breathe. Memories flooded through me, from of the merest touch of fingertips that have traced the strands of my hair, to the roughened grasp drawing me closer. I relived them all over and over again until I thought I would burst from the pain, the pleasure, the agony, the bliss. I lived in those moments in each and every one of them and yet I died as well. A savored death my soul cried in longing for as many times as the remembrance would come. Once, one hundred, a thousand or more. Whispers painted the surface of the cloud pouring out onto it ... everything and an exhaled breath sending it on to its destination.

High hopes

Singing in the sunshine, laughing in the rain
Hitting on the moonshine, rocking in the grain
Aint no time to pack my bag, my foots outside the door
Got a date, I cant be late, for the high hopes hailla ball.
got a hell hound on my trail cause its hell Im headed for
no one really knows which one it is
Singing to an ocean, I can hear the oceans roar
Play for free, play for me and play a whole lot more!
Singing bout good things and the sun that lights the day
I used to sing on the mountains, then the ocean lost its way.
I've been there I dont know? Oh oh yeah!

~Led Zeppelin

Along with learning first aid, I found that lessons with the kaiila Mistress were on the agenda as well as learning the differences in animal tracks taught by none other than the weapons Master himself. I was jumping up and down for joy and squeeling .. no not squeeking ... really and truly squeeling with excitement ... On the inside. Of course it all came bubbling up to the surface and spilling over as a quiet spoken ... I would like that very much. Even while I was being coaxed into being part of a slut pile and teased because I didn't leap up and at'em instantly, my mind was racing with the imagery of being out on the plains seeking out the sculptures that paws and hooves left behind in the dust and looking for bent straw and broken twigs where ... something ... had passed. I was liking this idea even better than being able to tend the kaiila. Don't get me wrong, I love horses, I love the kaiila just as much but I'm not allowed to pounce up into the saddle, dig in my heels and feel the wind kiss my face and caress my hair. Slaves aren't allowed to feel the thunder of taloned claws bite into the plains or know the ripple of the massive muscles in motion, maybe under our bellies if we are tossed across a saddle but it is not the same. That was sort of like getting all dressed up to go to the movies on a hot date and actually having to watch the movie, sideways.

This learning to track offer though was new and thrilling. I knew a good bit of it from the southern estates. Deer hunting was a passion of the men where I came from. If you were any part of a southern man's life, you knew when the season came in, what supplies were needed, have them ready at all times, as well as be able to co-ordinate Mossy Oak and Real Tree cammoflage. If you think men aren't fashion conscious, mix those two up and see what happens.

But let me back track to the tracking. Deer are similar creatures to the tabuk here except for the horns. Those differ entirely. Tabuk are just one pointy hornie instead of two wriggly hornies. They still do what bears do in the woods and I knew how to tell those little tidbits apart or at least I could learn. Now there is something to write home to Mother about, knowing who drops what and where and how or point out where a good rutting zone was.

I could see it all now, Tinkerbell Tracker ... Oh yeah baby I'll take you anywhere you wanna go ...

By the way Mister Sandman the cloak fits real nice.

Its a good thing

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.
The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do
They're really saying I love you.
I hear babies cry, I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll never know
And I think to myself what a wonderful world
~Louis Armstrong

There were little touches of the dream that toyed with my thoughts as I filled the buckets. In the early ahns without the infusion of light from the central fire yet, the stream looked a lot like the carpet I'd been given. Much as I had in my slumbers I wanted to pull it all up around me covering myself completely with it, take it back to the camp and offer it to every one I met today. How does one go about doing that?

I figured I would start with the little bundle that was hogging my blanket. I snagged a left over meat pie to go then filled a bota with fresh water to wash it all down with before I braved trying to rouse the lost waif. There were murmurs of things that boys that age shouldn't know how to say. Much of which I simply translated to a cheerful 'good morning .. what a lovely day'.

It took a little bit of long distance coaxing to avoid the swatting of his hands to shoo me away before he finally crawled out from under the wagon. He snagged the meatpie to stuffed into his cheek whole. I'm not sure if he coughed with that much food in his mouth or muttered something else when he took the bota and poured the water over his head. How very much he reminded me of someone else made me laugh even if the growl and the glare was strictly his own. I was still chuckling and even muttering to myself as I watched him tear off to join the others his age for lessons.
Talking to myself was not a natural thing to me so it had to have seemed a bit comical when I entered the fires waving one hand in the air, dragging a sack of bosk droppings behind me with the other, smiling while I chuckled and still mumbling something about ... boys.

That was the start of how I wound up being part of a pick up spare in a raucous game of plains bowling. So that is what running the lance looks like. One of the Masters was chasing a little blue wisp and the wagers were on between raven and I. In the end we were toppled into the Master-slave snowball as well. I still say he won and that wagons being obstacles don't count when it makes the bola ricochet. The Master said it was a tie. Drat, raven was going to have to gather dung for me for a day. Of course if I'd lost, I'd have to pay her a red candy. Since I didn't have any, a tie was a good thing.

Now exactly how the subject turned to what the slaves wore I am not sure unless it had something to do with noodle 'Not' wearing anything. The Master told raven to see to our clad kajir and make it all fit a little more snug. An old episode of Jeff Foxworthy flashed in my head ... the "just slut her up a little' part. I did try bartering like I did with the Mistress. Mine seemed to fit just fine to me ... you know ... loose ... comfy. He said if I gave raven any grief, she could make me go topless. I shut up.

Lessons on first aid came in handy with the little blue imp and of course the Master needed checking out too in case he had anything that had turned blue and was tender. I must need more lessons because all I could offer was a kiss to the top of his head and a repeat of the Mistress words ... Just stay calm and relax. Graciously, the Master accepted the small offering without making much to do of it all.
I'm still uncomfortable with other Masters. I can pour a mean bowl of blackwine and ladle up a dish of stew that can keep a warrior warm for ahns but ...

I saw the look raven gave me. I was going to have some explaining to do. I had all the same passions that the other girls have ... I think. A good looking Tuchuk could make my pulse race. One of them did anyway. Sometimes it is so painful that I want to murmur sweet nothings and other times holding it in is so deliciously sweet it hurts. I was just saving it all up to unleash ... ummm later.

I dreamed a little dream

I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sweep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O, beloved as thou art!
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast:
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last
~Die Verbannten Kinder Evas


Sleep finally carried me beneath its gentle touch and took me on a new venture. It was not the 'convertible parked on a romantic hillside with the top rolled back, only this time he wasn't praying for the end of time' kind of journey that I had hoped. It was an eclectic mix that made no sense and at the same time held volumes in its wisdom.

Everything seemed to open up into a world of perfect beauty painted in wonderful shades of green. Green grass, green trees, a lake so pure that it shone emerald beneath the sky's touch. Even the lanscape had a gentle rolling to its highs and lows. It was the kind of place you just wanted to spread a checkered tablecloth, pull out a bottle of wine with cheese and sit listening to the birds sing. Across the lake I could see a house. I could see into it. A murial sculpted against the far wall was soothing and beckoning as well. I wanted to go there and see it up close, to be there and began a journey to find it.

The path held gardens of beautiful flowers and delicate vines that continued the lure to go on. When I found the house it was no less breath taking than the portrait of the lake had been. A welcoming committee turned out to offer gifts. One that stood out more than any other was a darker skinned man that gave me a carpet. He didn't have the markings of the tribe across his cheeks, instead he reminded me of the dessert, the sun kissed sands. The rug he held out was soft and supple enough that I draped it over my shoulders like a cloak. It covered me almost completely so that only my hands were left exposed. My fingers ran across the weave appreciating the workmanship. The hues so rich and vibrant they almost blended together though the patterns of swirls and florets never seemed to fade. It was woven in shades of beige, orange, brown, black, yellow and a rich purple. It was so delightful that I took it with me as I went to explore the house.

Dimensions are never what they seem in a dream and the walls were not walls but stairs that led upward. Each step had to be taken with caution as the steps were laden with pretty little potted plants, curiosities and books. I had to watch where each of my feet rested on the risers, amused that my feet were all I could see. I wanted to stop there and check out each blossom and title that I passed but I needed to continue on.

At the top there was a door that opened into a room that seemed to have no boundaries. As far as I could see in any direction it simply held chairs, those comfy kind like you find at an old Grand Theater but on the other side I watched a column of people file by. They were singing in a low chant with chanticlars emitting streams of smoke that filled in the spaces in between. I have no answer of why it caused me to grow worried. The feeling of concern was real for a little girl, one with yellow hair and a smile that could have been painted by the sun it was so bright. Only dreams know why they change in such a way. But I searched until I found her in a white room surrounded by light. She was a little rumpled around the edges but I woke before I could find out why.

Nothing of this nocturnal vision has interest to anyone else but even upon waking it seemed important that I remember each detail, each color. Despite a jitter to my hands and a race of pulse through my veins that felt like each one was on fire I had this smile that wouldn't seem to dim. If only I could have washed away that strange copper taste that coated my tongue.

The central fire had lifted its sleepy head yet and in the amber fused purple haze of the morning I put each tidbit to memory before I rose. There had to be some kind of meaning to them. Making sure to tuck the blanket in around my tiny sleepwalker, I had to check to see if it was multi-colored but it was just my gently worn little old one. I headed off for the emerald stream looking for yellow bricks along the way. You see I had promised Cana I would have blackwine ready when she woke. raven reminded me that was her job but since I'd volunteered, I could brace the cooler mornings to get the water. That girl is so good to me.

Sides of a coin

I'd grown accustomed to sleeping beneath or on top of a wagon where ever there was an empty spot rather than in the crowded slave wagon. The physician's wagon isn't very far from the one of the kaiila Mistress and that one isn't far from Master Rook's. I would find a place near one of them to spread my blanket. The past few days I'd begun to pick up my chores again from the other slaves that had been helping but for some reason it took more out of me than usual. Several nights would find me toppling into it sound asleep before my cheek ever touched its softness. Tonight though, that bliss was reluctant to come. With my eyes closed I seemed to hover between wakefulness and the brink of an abyss that I could not slip beyond.

The feel of something warm and soft shifting against the middle of my back didn't startle me but I lay still in that drowsy state trying to determine whether it was friend or foe. When a toe dug into the back of my calf and an elbow gouged at my ribs, I pulled the corner wedge of my blanket over the little body leaving my hand curled over his hip behind me.

A new round of fidgits while he fought his own battle against sleep caused me to whisper,'be still.' I heard his breath sigh and could almost see the warm vapor turn white in the cool air and soon a little purr of snoring filled in the pause in between.

More on this side of waking now I lay there basking in this gift and pondering it as well. The small warrior had left the comforts of his new environment and braved slipping out to be here. Was he merely seeking the open stars, finding peace in the solidity of the ground beneath him and a sparkling blanket of the heavens to wrap him in comfort? If so then there were many wagons to slide beneath or even grassy little knolls that would have sufficed. Perhaps he had thought a little blonde slave girl was lonely and needed company. I rather doubted it but still it could have been his motive. I understood more than I was willing to let myself. He was here to fill a need of his own. Reaching out in a small way that wasn't small in any way at all, not to him. The distance he had traveled could not be measured in horts. If measured in base needs, he had spanned light years.

I could see myself having crept such a distance to be near one that I cared for and now I had the opportunity to see through his eyes. It was only a glimpse but it had been enlightening.

There are not two sides to every coin but three. Heads or tails is divided by the slim edge that both keeps them apart and holds them together. Tonight I lay there in the middle being able to see both faces and it dawned on me that it is only when the coin spins that it becomes whole .. a complete circle.

It all made sense in that moment but I knew I would have trouble trying to explain it all if anyone had asked. Instead I merely leaned back a bit so that my body offered a lee side against the wind for a smaller one. While I stared up at the cresents of the three moons it was another that filled my thoughts and I admitted to myself just how deeply I missed him.

Mandala re-edited

The wound is healing well noted by the intense itching beneath the layers of gauze. I forget that it is there much of the time, but the Mistress watches me like a herlit, scolding me if my hand even twitches in the direction of my shoulder. There is a sore spot on my scalp too, not from the tangle with the beast but from having gotten her handi-work wet. That was what I was supposed to remember about the stream. She made a trench between the fire and the healer's wagon with my bottom, dragging me there to check how much damage I'd done.

Today the bandaging will come off. I've kept up with my chores despite it all. Some I could not have done without Oquai and Raven's help. Some I learned to do with the use of one hand and still not disturb the gashes on my back. I'm too busy to think of that afternoon much or the after affects. But today it teases the back of my memory. Parts of Edmund Larl have been distributed among the tribe. A taloned claw hangs from the throat of one of the new Mistresses. It was not until I saw it there that the ice water feel trickled up my spine. I should be pleased that he is no longer a danger to the tribe but it leaves a deep sadness as well as some wariness behind that I cannot explain.

The connection that I have with the wild animals allows me to understand them, how they think, how they follow natural instincts of survival. Often as fleeting thoughts though still understood. Their passings are simply a part of life as it is for humankind. Edmund and his mate were not merely wild animals. The spirit that lived within them held a different predatory response. It was cold and calculating. It thrilled at a kill. As if it could not wait to savor the richness of that taste, it longed for it. I wonder if that spirit still clings to the talisman or any of the other bits and pieces left of the beast. Was this Edmund's retribution, to slip back in when no one was looking, to touch everything, to leave his mark for being pushed from the Tuchuk treehouse? He had touched me and left his mark, I must share part of that spirit too now.

I cannot help glancing to the high grass now and then watching for the hollowed indention of movement. When the wind blows over the tops of the stalks setting them to motion I feel a shiver. I reach up to touch my shoulder to shake it off then stand taller knowing I know that I am stronger now because of it ...

even if more superstitious in my beliefs. I wanted his eyes.

A few of my favorite things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple streudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things

When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad
~Sound of Music

I seemed caught in a wirlwind of change that left me dizzy. Being once more a camp slave afforded me freedoms I had not known before. When I first came to the people I was not trusted enough to be able to roam among them much and the set of bells on my ankle at least let them know where I was and what I was doing when I did. The bells no longer swirled my ankles and I was more readily accepted at the fires. This new opportunity was not one I took lightly. In fact it felt like a gift to be cherished. I will admit that I was very much surprised to be in such demand among members of the tribe. Honored is a good word, I think. The physician had allowed me to help with the dispersement of furs to the outer wagons and help label things in her wagon. The kaiila Master said that once I didn't look like a present all wrapped up, I could help again with feeding and grooming the kaiila. Mistress; 'I have an bone in my leg,' said I could continue helping put up jars of jams and drying meats too. Then there was the task the Commander sent me on of combing beneath wagons to find a wiry little half bota to deliver to the Elders. That as well as the blonde urt hunt and raxxberry counting. Life was good and it was becoming full.

raven has been given the responsibility of keeping the camp slaves in line. If my opinion matters, it was a good decision. She did catch me off guard when she called me out to let me know I would be taught first aid by the Mistress. We, the camp slaves, would all learn something that would be helpful to the tribe. I did make sure that it was alright with the healer as well. If it had been up to me, I would have rather learned more about the kaiila. I knew a little about the beasts in a way. I knew horses and these creatures were similar, well, except for the fangs and taloned claws and all that silky fur ... and the fact that they tower over a wagon in size. And I had learned more when I was allowed to help with them before. The kaiila Master had said once that I could go with him on some of the drives. I had been torn between staying close to Me too and exploring the vastness of my new world and all of its glory. The decision would not be mine to make.

There were several thoughts that ran through my head besides the obvious. One was that no one really knew much about me. That was because I never said much. I get quiet when I am content and had been very quiet for a long time. The second was a dream. At first I had so wanted it to come true, now feeling that it just may, left me with this dreadful sinking feeling. The last was that I would have to remain within sight but not too close.
There was an old piece of prose that wove its way through my thoughts ... 'whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.'

between the bosk, the grass and the sky

Hatching from a nameless gleam of light I see
Monstrous flowers and frightening roses
I feel that out of duty I write all these things
That seem, on the lurid, trembling parchment,
To issue sinisterly from the shadow of my hand.
Is it by chance, great senseless breath
Of the Prophets, that you perturb my thoughts?
So where am I being drawn in this nocturnal azure?
Is it sky I see? Am I in command?
Darkness, am I fleeing? Or am I in pursuit?
Everything gives way. At times I do not know if I am
The proud horseman or the fierce horse;
I have the scepter in my hand and the bit in my mouth.
Open up and let me pass, abysses, blue gulf,
Black gulf! Be silent, thunder! God, where are you leading me?
I am the will, but I am the delirium.
Oh, flight into the infinite! Vainly I sometimes say,
Like the saviour calling out "Lamma Sabacthani,"
Is the way still long? Is it finished,
Lord? Will you soon let me sleep?
The Spirit does what it will. I feel the gusting breath
That Elisha felt, that lifted him;
And in the night I hear someone commanding me to go!
~Victor Hugo

Was it selfish of me to want to be there for him, to be a part of his world, to think that I was somehow helping? He has now been called before the Elders and he is angry and very anxious about it all. None can blame him for that. It is an important turning point. One that the future depends on.

I had meant well and still have deep down knowing inside that life holds great things for him. Readily, I will admit I do not know all there is to know of being a Tuchuk or of the many clans and their ways. These things I learn more of every day or at least what I am allowed to know. To the day I take my last breath I will learn so that I can give back.

I was given the chance to tell the story of a courageous warrior, one that faced grave danger, one that stood tall with honor to protect those that could not do so for themselves. I told it at the fires at the request of a Commander. It was heard and respect offered as it should be. Not to me of course but to the man who had been so fierce, so brave. What was his name, where among the vast harigga did he live, who was his family? These were important questions I had no answer to. I could only divulge that he was too young to have a name yet, unscarred, fuzz cheeked. Not a man but a small boy. He lived where he could, sleeping beneath wagons when he grew tired. There was no family that claimed him as their own. He was alone in this world. Alone except for a meddling little slave that watched over him when she could.

There was wisdom in the old warrior's voice when he asked that Master Rook begin looking after the boy. He would have a place to sleep, hot meals to eat, he would have the kaiila Mistress as well to help watch over him. She is the finest mothering spirit I have ever known. How I wish I could be the one that could offer that nurturing to him. So much so I felt an ache race through my heart. It eased only slightly when I saw her concern fill her features like a cloud against the sun. The name she chose for the boy was far more fitting than the nickname I had for him. Larl Spear is what he would be known as now until he has been given his true name by the tribe. I was told find him and to bring him before the Elders.

Weren't these all good things?

It took several days to find the slippery little fellow. When I did, he was among the other children reliving the moment with the larl in mock battle. The end of that lance now held straight and even. It had more velocity when he set it into motion. That little lower lip did not pooch out to his chin any longer, that little belly held taut bringing his whole demeanor to new heights. Still I would not disturb him while he was surrounded by others. I waited until they had returned to their wagons and he was by himself. There was a fire that blazed in those ebon eyes when he saw me, a touch of a small smile that seemed precious. Not a sweet and sappy kind of precious but one that was treasured far above jewels because of its rarity.

He is unnerved and it surfaces as anger to be called from his old world to one that is unknown, and in ways seems more foreboding than the great larl itself to face. He said this was all my fault but in the same breath asked me if he looked presentable to stand before the Elders. I resisted licking my thumb to slick a lock of his hair into place and wipe away the dust off the tender cheek. I do not know what is right or wrong when it comes to many of the ways of my people. I do not truly know how one is to appear before the Elders other than respectful and humble. I told him the truth though. I told him he looked like a courageous Tuchuk warrior to me.

He let me walk with him part of the way and it was only as I stood in the shadows of the Elder's fires watching him continue on ... with the gait of a champion that I could see a bit of white fluff held fiercely in his fist. When they asked of his heritage there could have been no more fitting response that what rang out clear, proud and well defined. "I am first son of No wagon and All wagons, born of the dust of the plains between the bosk, the grass and the sky."

I had seen enough, I had seen too much perhaps but when I was shooed from the shadows, I could not help the grin that seemed tattooed from ear to ear.

Everyone keeps asking me if I am alright. The answer is a resounding YES. I could not be more so.

Moonbeams

bell ... Can you hear me?

Momma it hurts so bad.

That couldn't be right. Momma never called me bell. She always called me her little cloche.

It all came flooding back ... the larl, the children, Me too.

Me too .. is he alright? It was the first thing I asked even before I had a good understanding of where I was.

Mistress Falon was there with one of those worried Momma faces. I tried to smile at her and pull myself into a proper kneel. Major mistake and I do mean major. That look on her face more than the pain itself told me, I was in bad shape. No mincing around words that one, she said so ... plain and simple. I was lucky to be alive. I sort of felt the same way or I would have if she hadn't been dabbing at tender places with stinging ointments. I was more grateful she stopped swabbing than I was to be breathing there for a moment or two. No broken bones thankfully but the larl had left me a souvenir that I would carry with me the rest of my life. The larl hadn't knocked any of the stuffings out of me but three deep claw marks created cresent moons along my left shoulder. Mistress teased me about them to help lighten the mood while she stitched me up. When she was finished I would look like a pretty little package all wrapped up. I just needed a pink ribbon to finish it off.

Odd what goes through your head at extreme moments. I told her she was beautiful, beautiful on the inside.

She was still concerned about the children. I was too. I was concerned too about anyone knowing how it had happened. She said I had a new story to tell. I said it should be Me too's moment of glory and not the tale of a silly little slave girl.

Why had it been a silly little slave girl involved in the first place? That is easy. Had it been a freewoman, the tribe would have come out in droves to defend her, nevermind the little tuchuk with the poochy little lower lip and an unbalanced lance. A warrior would have earned a new scar for his heroism. But a slave? We are expendable. Instead it would be all about Me too and how he saved the other children. He really was so brave. I was so proud of him.

I must have been feeling better by the ihn since I managed to barter with the Mistress about how long I had to take it easy. She said three days. I tried to argue for two. She won. Then she handed me some tea. Wow, it worked fast. In my drowsy state I barely recognized Oquai standing there. She had been the gentle arms that circled me and brought me here. Come to think of it, she had always been with me since I came to this world. It was something I would ponder later while I was exiled to the slave wagon with nothing else to do.

My amazon goddess became the stoic protector instantly. Talk about a mother vulo? I didn't argue as much with her as the tea began to work its magic.

No stream allowed. I was supposed to remember something about the stream ... nevermind, I'll go dust Master's wagon, but not right this ihn.

Dancing with larls sure takes a lot out of a girl.

I'm not sure why but I remembered the treehouse from when I was young.

Not the first time I've been called childish, just the first time I have ever said it about myself.

Falling from the treehouse

I remember going to Mother's friend's Esther's house on the coast when I was little, more so for her bratty son Edmund than I did the visiting with anyone else. Edmund was always self proclaimed 'in charge'. He made up the games we played, he made up the rules for them and he changed them at will. Always to suit him. No surprise he always won. I remember him most from the summer he pushed me out of the tree house. No girls allowed, he said then showed me the sign he'd made to prove it. It was only him and me so it divided the troops by half.
That fall knocked the breath out of me and made me mad. I mean real mad, the kind of mad that makes you all calm on the inside, past seeing red but seeing blinding white instead. I was too mad to cry. I tried climbing back up there to ... I don't know what I would have done if I'd gotten back in while he was there but he sort of figured it wasn't a good idea to let me up there again. So I waited him out. I didn't make any more attempts to get back up there while he was self proclaimed king of the tree house.
Eventually he got lonely or maybe just hungry but he slithered down the makeshift ladder and headed for the side porch of the manor. That was when I made my move. I skinnied up that tree and pulled the door closed behind me. Only took a minute to change the sign. No boys allowed

I held the treehouse for the rest of the afternoon. I touched each and everything Edmund had stashed there. Tainted it all with girl cooties. That would teach him. I felt vindicated anyway at least until Momma called me in for dinner.
bell ... bell

"Hidden"

If you place a fern
under a stone
the next day it will be
nearly invisible
as if the stone
has swallowed it.
If you tuck the name of a loved one
under your tongue too long
without speaking it
it becomes blood
sigh
the little sucked-in breath of air
hiding everywhere
beneath your words.
No one sees
the fuel that feeds you.
~ Naomi Shihab Nye

Whispers

If I had expected a glow of green light or even blue it did not appear. If I had expected the painted man to intervene, he had not come. Who was I to say that what I came here for was done. There had been greater forces at work here. If I had expected not to wake, I had been mistaken. I was too young to know that I would be mistaken many times in my life.

.. can you ...
can you .. live
for me

An echo reverberated through me and in my darkness I held tight to it. I held tight to all that I believed in. With that strangled grip I turned with defiance to a distant summons. The dirt beneath my fingers was curled tight into my palm.

The plains, my plains, my home.

The answer was a whispered ... yes.

And with it, I surrendered to the peacefulnes of sleep, aware only of arms that lifted me with a gentility.

As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might.
O! let my looks be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O! learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

Me too

Raven's soft shoulder though inviting to sleep against had not been found of late. Instead under what ever wagon was nearest when Me too would begin to wind down in the eves became my bed roll. If he noticed that a 'girl' was hanging around he never let on. He was more attuned to simply surviving.

I never ventured too close to where he was so that I did not interfere in any way with his daily life. He would wake, scratch and meander off to find a scrap of bread, fight for a tidbit of meat or scavenge the bushes for a lizard or a cotton tail frevet to munch on. He was already a good hunter though the poochy little belly told of nutritional hungers just as the poochy little lower lip told of social ones. There was no one wagon that he called home, no waiting arms to tuck him in at night. The scrapes and bruises he would acquire whether playing or scrapping to carve out a place among the other children were neglected. There was no one to kiss them and dry the tears. I can't remember seeing him cry over anything. He was a tough little warrior.

The same scenario I'd watched for many days began to unfold along the outer edge of the harriga today. Me too had his lance in hand, dragging it across the dust and dirt attepting to catch up with the other children and they were trying to find places he couldn't follow. I'd found a small perch on a small bolder and was mending a pair of leathers when the parade took a left turn back toward the camp. Instead of lump bumping behind them he stopped and looked to the tall grass. It was instinctive to do the same, my gaze turning to the same area.

I could see the tops of the golden stalks waving in the breeze. A serene picture of the plains at peace. Then I saw it too. A furrow that moved within them. Deep, foreboding, paralyzing. The little warrior hadn't moved a hort. He, like I, watched as it angled in the direction of the camp and began to pick up speed.

The larl.

My heart raced with ice water and the sewing I'd been inattentive to anyway slid down the side of the rock I'd been sitting on to fall into the dirt next to it. I started running as hard as I could on an intercept path. It was not the movement in the tall grass that I kept in sight. It was my self imposed little charge. Fear never once touched the red fruit cheeks. The end of the lance rose unsteadily even as he stared at me. Our eyes met and locked.

Everything unfolded in a flash of a million moments. Instantly in slow motion. The impact was fierce enough to knock the tiny white feather from my hair. Pain in my shoulder was scalding hot and freezing cold all at the same time. The world became streaks of blinding white. I had to smile as I watched the tiny arm's motion. For the first time the razor pointed pole held perfectly balanced then began to sail through the air with a precision grown warriors would practice a lifetime to achieve.
Had it been one of the tribe's most fierce that had let go the lance, it would have had enough force to pierce the creature to the ground. Instead, it was only enough to startle the beast away from his original prey.

Within the crimson tunnel I was sinking into, I watched Me too bend to gather the little down fluff, twirling it pensively in his fingers. In the next moment, he was swallowed up in the midst of his peers, raucous cries lit the skies hailing the teeny hero and they lifted him to stronger shoulders to carry him off.
The tall dry grasses slipped back in around me in a warm embrace and soon grew still except for their dance with the wind.

Humming along

When the grass woke this morning, it decided that green was its best color. The dust thought brown was suitable to wear another day and the sky was that gorgeous sky blue just as everything should be. I could not have agreed more with their choices and the reliability of it all brought a smile and some silly little song that I kept humming as I began my day.

I really don't think the last vestiges of sleep had quite burnt away when I brought water back from the stream but I was pleased to have a few moments of Mistress Falon all to myself. It had been a while since I served her so when I brought her, her blackwine I almost began apologizing for bringing it black. I'd remembered right. There was a ring of truth in her words. "Remember not to second guess that which you already knew in your heart and mind." I tucked it away for safe keeping.

She gave me the chance to speak to her of Me too as well as listened to a story of a woman found tossing sand dollars back into the sea. There was no judgement as I confided that it was how I felt about the young Master. She just listened. I'asked if there was anything I could help her with and she very graciously agreed there was quite a lot I could do. I could read and write Gorean because of the training I had been given in Tor, and I had picked up a few of the Tuchuk symbols along the way as well. These skills would be of use to her labeling the various jars and such in her wagons. I enjoyed the feeling of being able to contribute to the harigga's needs even if it was beginning with just one. I was still humming that little song when I went to fill her bowl.

The morning unfolded into peals of laughter when raven began teasing me about urts, blonde urts. When she ran a bit of fur across my back I came unglued, jumped up, toppled over trying to get the fuzzy creature that had attacked me .. OFF. Wench. I'll find a way to even the score. I think she might look adorable with little pink ribbons tied in her hair. She has to sleep some time. Eh, who am I kidding. Adorable will just offer her more raxxberries in a day.

But ... I'm still a little jumpy after all that and was peeping under things and around things ... searching for Me too of course annnnd ... maybe an urt as well but I'm not telling. I heard Mistress Cana telling them I would look under every wagon before I was through helping raven urt hunt. She was right. The most important thing though was hearing them laugh and enjoy a morning of fresh blackwine and meeting the day with a smile. It wasn't work, it was just being alive and relishing every delicious moment of it.

Make new friends,
but keep the old.
One is silver,
the other is gold.

A circle is round,
it has no end.
That's how long,
I will be your friend

A fire burns bright,
it warms the heart.
We've been friends,
from the very start.

You have one hand,
I have the other.
Put them together,
We have each other.

Silver is precious,
Gold is too.
I am precious,
and so are you.

You help me,
and I'll help you
and together
we will see it through.

The sky is blue
The Earth is green
I can help
to keep it clean

Across the land
Across the sea
Friends forever
We will always be.
(Brownie Friendship Rondel)

You, Darkness

You, Darkness

You, darkness, that I come from
I love you more than all the fires
that fence in the world,
for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone
and then no one outside learns of you.
But the darkness pulls in everything-
shapes and fires, animals and myself,
how easily it gathers them! -
powers and people-
and it is possible a great presence is moving near me.
I have faith in nights.

Rainer Maria Rilke

A power of Butterfly

My Cocoon tightens — Colors tease
I'm feeling for the Air —
A dim capacity for Wings
Demeans the Dress I wear —
A power of Butterfly must be —
The Aptitude to fly
Meadows of Majesty implies
And easy Sweeps of Sky —
So I must baffle at the Hint
And cipher at the Sign
And make much blunder, if at least
I take the clue divine —

Emily Dickinson