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.