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.
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.
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