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.
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.
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