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.