Skills

"Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither." ~ C.S. Lewis

"Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither."
Stopping by my usual haunt of the practice fields held a bit of surprise. Instead of the boys all lined up for their lessons, several Masters and Mistresses were there for a little target practice. Girlies against the guyses. I put 2 lizards on the feminine side as a wager. This time I had three so I was confident.Chay had one of those I was going to tell you something looks instead of that you are lucky I let you live one and Kam had that big arsed grin. Meta wriggled her fingers at me, lian smiled but kept busy filling quivers. Makes you feel all wanted.
Meta was whomping up on Master Saresh with a vengeance. You could see the pride written all over her. The Master on the other hand was not taking his defeat well. A missed shot by Mistress Chay no doubt had to be due to a crooked shaft. That woman could pierce a gnat's tush if she decided to but it would prove to be a lesson on skills as I watched her score fall a bit further. Though when her mate seemed to notice she was a bit off the mark, she slid her arms around his mid section and used his bow to hit a bosk eye. Straightened that shaft right out, I tell you. Enough in fact that they left not too long after that, but not before Kam called for some blackwine from one of the other girls. I fell in step with Maive and we served the old fashioned way ... in tandem with the vessel and drink first and the condiments second. I was a bit rusty and Maive bless her heart seemed to just glide into her spot like she was a natural even if the look on her face said ... I have NO idea what I'm doing.
It dawned on me though that since the boys were not at the practice field, that I didn't know where Me Too was. Master Rook was going to tan me if I lost him. He wasn't at the wagon, or at the clan fires. I got that panicky feel as I began combing through the rows calling for him. An old worn boot, blackwine mug and a cooking ladle sailing by later accompanied admonishments to be quiet and find somewhere else to be yelling before one of the Mistresses pointed toward the outer wagons. Well don't you know that boy was sitting on a fur at Master Gideon's fire like he belonged there. I went to fussing at him immediately for giving me such a scare. It provoked a tirade from the lad that made the worn out boot throw look like a pebble toss. He glared at me and shouted that I was not his mother and he did not have to answer to me, not to Cana and not to Master Rook either. The rest was silenced when Mistress Ula fwapped him up side the back of the head and told him part of respect earned was respect offered. The soothing tone of her voice turned to me asking me to let Cana know that Me Too would be at her wagon ... working off his disrespect. He may have begun to argue but all it took was just one of those looks ... you know the one ... from the Mistress and he sat down real quick and got quiet.
The old saying goes that great minds think alike but maybe I learned that it takes skills to think just different enough to make it all work.

Destiny

Some of the path I'd walked through life had been chosen for me .. some I'd broken from the reins to venture on my own, nowhere in any of it could have been foreseen that I would be here on a new world among such a passionate people trying to form a future. Would it be easier to simply turn loose completely and accept what was being told to me .. that the boy was my destiny. Why could I not feel that this was what and where my life's purpose was? Here was where I belonged, that I felt deeply about but as what, doing what? Life felt like a wild run away kaiila. How could I steer its course without a bridle and bit? How could I alter it without dampening the wonderous spirit that made me love being here? How do I live within the fate? Each question only provoked a newer one and none of them provided any answers.
Why was it that the interior of Ramza's wagon came to mind and haunted me, haunted every step that I took back to the wagons of the kaiila clan? I had never even seen the inside of it but he had told me once what was there, painted on the wall within, the beautiful murial of russets, browns and sienna's. It was his favorite place. The place that he had felt ... yess I knew what he felt and why. I had told him that day of my own favorite place, not the one I had spoken to Fonce of ... being next to his side but the first one I held close to my heart ... the treehouse. Just as Ramza had spoken with such burgeoning emotion of his mother's home, that one place had felt most like mine.
My beautiful blue world so far away, it weighed on me now in a place I kept secreted. I didn't dare look up at the blue of the sky because instinctively I knew that the flood of tears would begin and I wouldn't be able to dam them up again. I grew stronger here on the plains but I grew harder as well. They would not see me break. I'd allowed Fonce to see them for just one brief moment and he had said it was not my tears that he wanted. I'd looked at the end of my fingertips, still damp with the exposure of my frailties, of being a woman, of feeling emotions. Then held them up to the air and let them dry.
Why had all of this come to mind here .. now .. this moment as if it had waited in the shadows in precisioned ambush? Destiny. Those words made my teeth grit hard and my eyes glint in narrowed slits just like the they had the day Fonce first spoke them. Destiny had been my father's word. Destiny was when he made decisions for everyone around him that would benefit him .. not the one the decisions were made for.
'Leonette, you do not know what you want. The trusts have been established, and you WILL marry Charles just as it has it has been arranged. You will be Mrs. Charles Randall 'Skippy' McMasterson. It is your destiny. You should be happy.' Even the gold embossed monogrammed invitations had been chosen for me.
I had escaped for a few hours then in the recluse of the treehouse just as I did when I was a young girl. It was there that I felt Edmund. I felt his first awkard kiss, his long clumsy arms trying to fold around me and hold me to him. It was where I heard his heart beating even more fiercely than mine. The treehouse was where I had opened the official letter from the Armed Forces that said that Edmund was never going to sit in that treehouse with me again. It was where the tears fell and bathed the floor in rivers of sorrow.
Bell, you will serve the family of the boy you have chosen to look after. It is your destiny. It is not many who have been given such knowledge, you should be glad to know what yours is.
Why was it that those memories haunted me now? Simply because, I needed to feel those awkward arms encircling me, I needed to hear the words of reassurance that said that everything was going to be alright ... and just as it had been then, it was the same now. They were not going to be there. I was alone.
For the first time in my life, what I felt for the painted man that brought me here bordered on an emotion I had never known ... and my eyes glinted a fiery red and narrowed to near slits. I tried to erase him with a rise of my hand in the air. I wanted to erase him from my memories, from my thoughts. I wanted to erase any more influence he may over my destiny. I didn't want to dream anymore.

Canto Alla Vita

We are chameleons, and our partialities and prejudices change places with an easy and blessed facility, and we are soon wonted to the change and happy in it. We do not regret our old, yellow fangs and tushes after we have worn nice fresh uniform store teeth a while. ~Samuel Clements

Sometimes you can look forward to a moment so much that you play it out in your mind a million times what you would say, how you would move, look, feel, see. It has been so much a part of you that you know it by heart or just want to. I had done this thinking of how it might go when I next saw him. I was walking the high bank of the stream intending to wet the leather I'd been working on when I saw him sitting on an overhang above the edge. For a moment I wondered if he heard the race of my pulse as part of the roar that surrounds him.

He makes me smile. I can't help it. No matter how many times I had gone over this moment, it all just faded away when I put the bucket down and just went to him. It wouldn't be until I thought back to replay it all over and over again that I would even realize that blue was there. I knew it but I didn't know it. He was all that mattered.

We were doing that 'After you My dear Alfonse' scenario in a way while he seemed to relax a little. He asked why I'd come and I showed him the braided pieces of the halter and bit. I love his questions most of the time, they drive me crazy just as easily. I almost chuckled when he began the endless barrage of them. The explanation that the tack wasn't for Cana as he first thought but mine from a wager provoked him to ask what I was going to do with them. The plans for bringing them back to usefulness and learning how they worked seemed logically understandable though the more profound reason I simply offered quietly. In time I wanted to learn how not to need them.

Can't lie to you, nope, I took time to just look at him, to drink him in. He has changed in many ways as well. He looks healthier, not so much like the lanky youth I first met. Still so few consider how young he is and I could see the man emerging more fully in his physique, in his mannerisms. Life has been good to him since I left and that created a guilty twinge inside. It was not the only way he affected me and let me assure you he does. I doubt there are many women among the harigga that could say he doesn't make something inside them go pitty pat ... somewhere.

I didn't think that my nervousness was visible until he said we both seemed like we were sitting on needles. That was when I left everything I had thought of saying behind and just began talking to him. It's been so long since we've talked, he seems like a stranger. Perhaps it is because we never took the time to actually get to know one another much before I'd returned to being a camp slave. I can't remember just sitting and talking to him as we did that morning. So many times I felt that selfishly screaming voice inside saying ... hear me, see me that I just hushed it now and relished that for this moment, for right now ... he did. It was nothing at all like I imagined.

For all of the queries he posed and the probing within me, I could hear all he didn't say. There was no anger, there was no defensive frustrations, just a calm quiet, now and then a chuckle of his own and ohh his smile. How very different than some of the times we have spent together. I've never known anyone that made life feel so intense as he does. I enjoy being close to him, it is my favorite place to be. As long as it isn't too close? Should I have shouted to the skies at the top of my lungs that I could crawl inside him and hold on so tight that nothing could drag me out without one helluva fight? I wanted to be far closer than ever before was all that tumbled out. What had changed that I wanted to be there now when it seemed as if I didn't before? It didn't seem like the time to go back to the beginning and dump out a whole bucket of squiggly emotions about larls and dreams and things I didn't have any understanding of to be truthful. The bottom line was that all the reasons I'd left were simply mundane, too mundane to even mention. Part is that the plains, the Tuchuk, this way of living isn't so new and foreign to me now. Part is that I have made mistakes and have learned from them.

Each new question seeped with pain but this time I refused to withdraw. I refused to do more than be right there next to him, to talk with him, to answer them honestly, openly regardless of how raw some of them felt. I'd never thought I held anything back from him but that exposure proved just how much I had. I didn't realize I'd had such trouble letting him see so many of my frailties. He thought I had trouble seeing his. His? Oh sweet plains, he didn't know that all I saw was a man I cared for deeper than I had ever cared for anyone or anything in my life. No, how would he know? How could he?

If there was nothing else that came of those few moments of being able to talk with him, I wanted, needed him to know that I have never regretted caring for him. He was never a mistake. No tumbling over the wall, no sailing over it and knocking it down, just lifting one stone off another. One that should not have been there.

All the rhetoric about how I take him with me everywhere I go, in everything I do, that in my heart I am still his, seemed so little to offer in the end. It would have sounded empty and shallow to me if someone had been telling me these things without showing me. He stands on his decision that I have chosen my destiny. Didn't he ever feel strongly enough about something to stand and say .. 'I do not agree'? Maybe I should have told him that ... I had. Instead I found myself agreeing that it does little good. Even though I don't care for the words ... destiny ... fate, he does. I respect that he feels very deeply about them.

I had heard once that the greatest strains on relationships can be categorized ... family, money, sex or religion, in my case childish stupidity should be tagged on the end of that as well. No matter what had separated us in the beginning, we have differing opinions about something very important, as close to religion as you can get being Tuchuk. It may be semantics, maybe I only want it to be so simple. I want to know what destiny means to him. I want to understand. I'd like to hear his feelings, his thoughts and not just because I have a vested interest.

When he slipped from this world to walk the realm of dreams, I wanted so badly to simply go with him, to throw off the reins and bit that held me back and just reach ... reach through the mists and grasp his hand, I whispered to him.

Walking away from that little hilltop, I wasn't breathlessly trembling with excitement. The smile played gently along the edges of my mouth belied a heart filled achingly full and a head that had an altogether new tumble of thoughts, questions and a quest for Amor Fati.

Where the Wild things Are

If we could talk to the animals, learn their languages Think of all the things we could discuss If we could walk with the animals, talk with the animals, Grunt and squeak and squawk with the animals, And they could squeak and squawk and speak and talk to us.

No one had asked why I wanted the gear and I am not sure I could have answered in a way that would have been sufficient. Most assumed they knew, that it was for Me Too or those that I'd spoken to of the massive kaiila I'd seen thought I had this hair brain scheme to catch him and ride him. None of these concepts had anything to do with my reasoning. It would only be later speaking with Fonce when a glimpse of it would be revealed and he did not press.
Slowly the pieces of leather had begun to take shape beneath my fingers. I felt driven to rip the bit and halter apart and start them over again, studying the how and why of them as I began to put them back together. It wasn't perfection that I was seeking but understanding of their precise purpose. Different imageries raced through my thoughts as I put the halter over my knee and moved my leg by use of the instrument until I could feel both the guidance and the mastery of it. They were still two separate entities to me. The bit raked into my shin, creating a deep line and circles began to appear on each side of my calves. I used these pieces before hundreds of times in my life time, guiding equestrians through paces, shows and more numerous events without ever giving it any thought. Not once had I considered what it felt like to the beast, how pulling on one rein created the movement I desired from the animal, or how the animal knew and understood what was expected when the leather drew one direction or the other. Now I wanted to know. For a brief moment I even lifted it to force it between my teeth. The cold steel spreading the flesh of my mouth painfully to be accepted and the tug from side to side forcing movement to occur closed my eyes so that reaped every nuance from it. What was it that transpired between rider and mount that created the fluid motions .. the symbiosis?
I did picture Hakan in my mind many times while I worked the braids until they almost looked new again though it was never with the tack. They were fleeting however, despite the breathtakingly beautiful imaginings of the wind and world itself speeding by. When I closed my eyes it was a far different scene that unfolded in my mind, over and over again. I could see the extension of my fingertips waivering in mid air against an unknown and a silohuette beyond that I could not reach. Reach ... reach ... that one thought kept coming back to me amidst the jungles in my mind but never seemd to gel. There was something tangible there that I could not curl my fingers around, couldn't close my thoughts around. Then for the spanse of just one iota of time I could see the tips of my fingers from the other side.

Orachu

Beast of the shadows

Wading from the stream, I went straight to Cana, kneeling at her feet. While she awaited my approach, she told the healer that she'd been simply horrid as a child. That is something I can't picture but when Falon asked her ... why, we all cracked up laughing. I grew more than serious when she motioned to the foal and told me she wanted me to choose a name for him. He was to be a gift once he had a name. Such gift, she gave to me in this honor. Her gifts often carry lesson to them and I'd grown to listen to them. Ones that to this moment have helped begin to shape me. Every line of my body and face went into silent query if I could go to him.

She began telling the history of the young kaiila while I let him take in my scent and began getting to know him. He had spirit but beneath the will there was a longing too that became almost immediately noticeable. He balked to the probe of my hands at first but soon stilled to the exploration. He had been born just before the move and she said the fact he had survived said much for him. I listen for the pearls of wisdom that the woman offers, finding more depth than the surface level much of the time. So when she said the ones that live in spite of all things being against them, often make the best and most loyal beasts, that they often live long happy lives, like Brute had. I not only paid attention but I took her words to heart.

The inspection of the colt though was not very different than the appraisal of a slave. The tone of muscle, the health of the animal, his teeth and gums as well as ears and claws were carefully checked. His demeanor and attitude among the list.

The women spoke of Master Kam's kaiila which brought the memory of the day before. I added gently that he would be our Orachu, the beast of the shadows, the protector. Cana thought that was a perfect name for the foal and when I looked back at him, it did seem like a fitting title. Orachu was to be Me too's mount. I felt a touch of guilt that the boy did not have what most boys his age already have. I was not his mother but I still felt the responsibility of his needs. So I met their gaze at first suspiciously or maybe not daring to hear what they were saying. If anyone can bring the shimmer along my lashes, it is usually Cana that can bring them almost to the surface. I couldn't find voice for a moment then in a cracked whisper I tried to tell her that the foal would be a fine mount for him and the would be honored to accept such a gift. It was with deserved respect that I bowed my head to the woman. I would ensure he understood the value of such an offering.

She had more for me to do. Someone would need to care for the beast as well as teach Me too about him. We both spoke at the same time. I was asking if I could be allowed, she was saying she had hoped I could find the time. She knew me pretty well as evidence in the smile she offered. Having the same train of thought was something I had grown used to with the physician and had to laugh doing it with Cana now.

The woman knew too that I'd been out among the rest of the herd, getting to know them, letting them get to know me. She'd noticed and said I had a way with them. In fact, she had gone so far as to tell the others of the clan that I would be spending more time among the kaiila. Those words felt like a gift as to me as well.

I mentioned the saddle and bridle I'd won in the wager, though they needed a lot of work. There wasn't chance to ask if I could keep them though it seemed they would remain mine since there would be new tack and a saddle waiting in the boy's wagon. The ones Cana was offering were in addition to the set that Falon had given him. The boy now had two sets and he would not just be outfitted now but as he grew as well. Was this pride the same as what a blood mother felt for her children? I just embraced her without even thinking. It was accepted and she whispered against my ear ... "He is lucky to have you and I am so very happy to see how he flourishes under your attentions."

Cana has given me most, she has a belief in me. I agree with her that sometimes she sees things that others do not though it was a great source of pride that she had seen these things in me. "I know you will never disappoint me." I can still feel the strength in those words.

When it all caught up with me and I managed to find my voice again, it all came out in a barage of chatter. A million questions all rolled up into one that made both women laugh. Among that was my concern about Me Too's frustrations, his anger and the lashing out without thinking, that he had so much inside that had no outlet. Cana held my gaze, so much unspoken communication is carried in the depths of those eyes. In that quiet tone of hers, she explained that learning to care for another would be a help.

When the conversation turned to match making among the two women, I told Orachu no one was immune and they would do the same for him one day but not to worry, they were pretty good at it. He still balked.

Before I led the young foal away, I heard them speaking of needing a pure black stallion for breeding. That was when I told the kaiila Mistress breathlessly about the ebon archangel I'd seen. She knew that one ... his name was Hakan. It means fire.

Treasure Hunt

Even before I opened my eyes I could feel the gaze boring down into me. As I lay there, I realized it was not one set but several. The count unknown at first just a bit daunting to know that I was being watched while I slept. Willing them away to return to the more peacefulness of a dream had no effect.

Me too's enthusiasm to start the day early roused me to prepare jerky and botas for what felt like half the tribe's youth. It was more like five in truth but the energy they could put off magnified head counts. It was my own fault. I'd told them the tale of Merlin the haruspex of the great Ubar Authur and now they were pinging off the wagon walls getting ready for treasure hunting. It wasn't a sword set in stone they were after but magic bones. The kind that can bring the dead back to life or at least prolong it a little longer. Not exactly the moral of the story I had hoped but it was better than the last time they went on an archaeological dig and wound up filling buckets underneath the wagon with broken pottery, worms and baby snakes.

It is impossible to go back to sleep after having experienced the ripple effect of an expedition with this magnitude. The few extra ahns before I had to begin my chores could be spent working the leather of the halter. The cold water of the stream would shrink it so that the weave of the braiding held stronger.

When I arrived, the healer was already there sifting through the myriad of stones in the stream for ones that could be heated and used for healing compresses. I forgot all about the halter for a while to help find just the perfect size, shape and dimensions she needed.

Spending time with Falon is always enjoyable. The exchange of small looks and shared conspiracies came natural now, always resulting in a mirrored grin. I explained that the search for power and magic wasn't to turn siblings into urts and other critters but a way to keep fireflies alive longer so they could go fishing. It was a guy thing, that one track purpose only they had logic for. I had tried to tell them to put more holes in the top of the jar but believing this was an ancient pyre site that held mystical wonders they could unearth was more fun.

A query about how her grandfather was doing reminded me of what Fonce had said. They were grown men capable of taking care of themselves but concern was something that seemed inherent within me. Would I always worry? Was it so wrong to feel this of those that mattered most to me? It wasn't that I didn't think they were made of the finest steel. Even the sharpest quiva is sheathed in leather to keep it sharp and clean.

Falon's stories always fascinated me and I listened to them with a childlike thirst for bedtime tales. Her family is such a wealth of histories woven together. They have been so many places, done so many things. It was always like opening a collection of short stories to talk with any one of them. She spoke of a place I'd never heard of .. Schendi where vines grew strong enough, long enough and high enough to be part of Jack's epoch with the giant. There were caves and secret pools of water hidden in that place that let my imagination run vivid. It was a place I had never been on any world. Didn't I sound like a universal carpet bagger? It had been an altogether different search for power that had sent the Noir children to such an exotic place. Safety, protection from someone with a design to use them to cause harm to her grandfather. It all stroked a far fiercer response from me. I knew I could strangle the life force from any who tried to hurt anyone of my tribe with my bare hands. There were more poignant moments within her recanting while she spoke of the closeness they shared, she and her parents, her brother and sister, touching the longings I had inside.

There was a promise that if the boys found a chest of jewels I would see she got her share. After all she had been the one to inspire the venture Me too was off on. They wanted to know how fish remained afloat and thus the reason to go fishing unveiled itself. I'd told them that Falon more than likely could explain the inner workings of anatomy even in aquatic creatures and that was when they somehow got the bright idea to find a way to keep the fireflies alive. Tah dah, now you know the rest of the story.

It was hard not to notice when Cana approached. One, she is such a dynamic woman that you naturally look for her addition in touching moments, two she was leading a gleaming roan foal. Now there is an awe inspiring vision. She'd heard tidbits of the conversation and immediately wanted to know what kind of treasure we were hunting for. You have to understand that these two women tend to provoke an excitedness in me when I get around them both so my answer came in one long winded run on sentence that by now they were accustomed to. I lumped it altogether ... stones, crowns, jewels, magic bones and family. We were all in agreement the last one was by far the greatest and most priceless of them all.

In the midst of telling me she had a chore for me, Cana did put the heart of the matter of the fish into perfect Tuchuk logic ... they float because it is their nature. Now why didn't I think to tell the boys that. I think I tried that but got that endless series of 'whys' and decided to let them find out on their own. Cana said filling their bellies created a brief stay of those but rest assured they will come right back to the beginning.

But back to the chore she had for me. Motioning to the young colt, she said I was to choose a name for him. I didn't know it but she had been on her own treasure hunt.

Metaphor

The woman gave me a ride back to the camp. We've spoken enough times together I knew she had something she wanted to talk about. I did too. There was something burning inside me that I needed someone to talk to about. The one person I really felt would understand and be able to talk to about it was the one person I couldn't talk to because it always tended to be a fiery conversation. See what I'm talking about?

She on the other hand was always open to talking to me. She brimmed with so much excitement now that she seemed to vibrate. We got the courtesies quickly out of the way. I'd been worried for her during her convalescence but I'd stayed at the outer wagons to help where needed most in her absence. I'd made a new medical pack to replace the one lost during the storm and se said she would see it filled for me. In exchange I offered to look after Mysterie for her.

I went straight to the point after that, medical supplies was not what was on her mind. I was right on target. It all came spilling out, climbing the wall and tumbling right over the other side. I listened to the breathless words of having surged beyond apprehension to speak openly of what she felt within, having exposed it, held it out to the light. I was so proud of her for having found the courage. Did she get a response? Not really, she said it had just been a long talk of the mechanics of love. She felt there were no rules when it came to love. If she had asked I would have told her how very much I disagreed with that concept but she began to recite her own rules in a rote fashion without realizing that she even had them. She was willing to accept both the wonders and the imperfections of another. I had to ask was she truly willing to accept the everything part as she had stated even if it might be beyond her imagining? Everything, I reminded her is sometimes far more than we can handle. The more that tumbled out, the more I felt my heart sink inside. I ached inside with the knowing that so many simply did not see, so many did not understand. I obviously don't have the all answers but I had this thread ... of what ... hope?

Now and then I would look back to where Kam had remained at the grove. I could see him shatter the bowl that held the life silencer against the tree. It seemed like a punctuation mark of a sort. I grew quiet for a little bit, merely brushing away stray wisps of my hair that had blown across my gaze making them mist over with the sting. I know she misunderstood when I began to talk to her about the saddle and the tack. It would feel like a change of subject, believing it was uncomfortable for me to talk about another woman's feelings for someone I care so deeply about. She offered some of her old gear for my use and I was appreciative of the gift. The topic led to touch on what I had stored up inside, what had me so fired up, breathless and was chomping at the bit to talk about. I began to paint a portrait of what I had seen. A magnificence with such fire in his soul he seemed to be aflame. He had looked right through me to the very depths of my soul and had set it ablaze as well. I was scared, I was excited at the same time. I had watched as it galloped away and I wanted ... I ...

What do you want bell? Could she comprehend what I was explaining? I didn't know but I tried. I wanted to experience it again. I heard in her words understanding but at the same time we spoke of altogether different planes. She offered her insights to what she thought I was speaking of ... the rawness and freedom? He breathes fire was my reply. Sounds like he took your breath away and drew you into him, to let you taste what he sees.

Yessssssss.

You saw something in him that you hold deep within yourself or something that you wish to feel for yourself? Both, all, everything. I want to run with him, breathe fire as well as feel that breath again. I thought she understood when she spoke more of my own thoughts .. that rawness that fills your your senses, that spirit unbridled, untouched, free.

I almost fell off the mount when she said she saw it in her own kaiila. I don't know if she caught the dry tone when I told her it is a very different wall. It was not one I wanted to climb and topple over. I wanted to sail slap over the top of it and kick it tumbling down behind me.

To the Horizon

Some steel wool had done wonders for the rusted bit I'd been working on. Although it was still dinged and dented, the surface had taken on the silver finish of it's original luster. I was rebraiding the bridle at the fires when one of the Mistresses came for blackwine. I've seen her a few times now so she is not unfamiliar to me. I'd just finished seeing to a hot morning meal of eggs and tarsk strips for her and answering questions of who I was and where I came from, when Master Kam made his way to the circle. The simple fact that he wished nothing this morning was enough to tell me that it was time.

Everyone within the kaiila clan knew that his kaiila had served a long and wonrously rich life but the weariness of age had begun to incapacitate the animal. His suffering was our own and we actually felt it within. It was natural to ask if he wished someone to go with him. I didn't know if a slave would be allowed such an honor and yes, to me it was. More, he gave me option of settling in the saddle before him or behind him on this last journey with his best friend. I chose to face the wind, teasing him about the view never changing from the back. Not that it isn't a nice view, mind you. Was it my way of soothing, helping heal to add humor? The taunts were light hearted and he took them that way.

The ride was one that will stay with me for as long as I am able to access it in my memory. I took in the plains from the eyes and heart of a magnificent beast, savoring every precious glory of them. I saw them for the first time from the ferral stand point of being .. being animal, being a base creature and I saw them as they would be if this were my last availability to inhale them. I will always owe Brute for showing me this wonder.

Kam had chosen a beautiful little outcropping, like an oasis. Falon joined us the dutiful grand daughter so devoted to her family. A tree so rare out here stood looming the little grove as shade from the burning rays of the central fire, a shelter from the winds and in my mind a companion for a warrior of many battles through the ages.

I kept constant watch on the Master while I built a fire and we all broke bread together in a manner of speaking though for the Tuchuk that is jerky. That holds a significant meaning to me going back to former beliefs. Brute indulged in not one but two bowls of paga. The first held the elixir that permanent dreams are made of. While each of us said our farewells, I told Brute the tale of Orachu, the shadow rider, our protector between this world and the next. I wove the story of his life, his triumphs and his majesty. He would be the beginning and end of many tales of courage and honor.

For as fierce and staunchly unflinching as men of the tribe can be, they have a capacity for a gentleness that is an unfathomable depth as well. The Master's hands so skilled at taking life, bestowing torturous pain the likes many can not begin to understand now rested against the pulse of the mount that had been with him through the best and worst of times for more than two decades until it ceased. It was done. The patina of the man never cracked though the turmoil of emotions unseen beneath the surface seared through me. I watched as the wind caught dust and a few dried leaves to swirl as if Brute's spirit touched us all one last time before he charged into the skies with vim and vigor and renewal of an old soul. I felt him as he raced to the horizon and on ... on to the beyond.

Kam chose to walk back to the camp alone and I could remember that tidbit of the two chiefs. It was part of the gift.

Insider

Before continuing on to the rest of the day's chores, I try to catch a glimpse of Me Too, Wily and the other boys at the practice fields. Watching the weapons Master impart the lessons of life as a Tuchuk warrior to them adds more respect for both his skills and the potential that each of these boys had. This right of passage into manhood, most of them took very seriously. Sometimes too seriously and the bottled up strive into warriorhood can boil over the surface into fisticuffs. I know that Me Too has a lot of catching up to do and the frustrated anger seethes just beneath the surface a lot of the time. It is why Master Rook's devotion to him means so much to me. He held a firm rein on him, coaxing the man within him out and perhaps can leave a sense of honor that I've seen missing within him. I wonder if it will be enough.
Then it is on to the pens. Exercise for the kaiila is not much different than for humans. It takes time and moderation to build stamina. I'd been allowed to walk some of the mounts, warming muscles, allowing them to expand their lungs and excelerate their heart rates. We walked, I talked, they listened. We spoke of the plains and its beauty, the harshness of this life though it had wonders yet to unfold.
Lyric could be a bit temperamental at times, at least with me, having little to add to the conversations except an occasional huff. The cream color twins, Curds and Whey, that isn't what Cana named them, it is just what I tended to call them, anyway, they were usually agreeable but they would get sidetracked easily. Whey liked to lick my hair, like Brute does, giving me a unique up do on the side. She never seemed to mind my snort and hurried rub, to try and paste it back down. She was patient, when I got through she would fix it again. Curds had something to say about everything. It was either a squeal, a chirp, a wheeze or a whinny as his two cents worth especially when he was trying to root through my pockets for treats. Mind you, I don't have any pockets so that made for some wide-eyed moments and a swat followed by an immediate ...'cut that out!' Wager was the most affectionate of the bunch, she liked having that little indention beneath her ear rubbed. Leaning into my hand would sort of veer our direction a time or two and I could have sworn that she almost thumped her hind claws. Wager was the collector of most of my secrets. Who would she tell? Cana already knew most of them, not all but definitely the majority.
Two of the other colts have just gotten their rings. The rest of the kaiila seem so proud of them, even if they are still a bit haughty about it.

Touchtable

It is in the early part of the mornings I savor that place between awake and asleep. Drowsed smiles linger on my lips for as long as I can wring an ihn out of it. It is the part of the day when my surroundings affect me more significantly than others. That is the time I feel most feminine, most affectionate, most ... everything including sensual. Breathing in the crispness of the morning air, feeling the caress of the first real stirrings of a breeze only to have the touch of the central fire warm my skin brings one of those long indulgent sighs. In the reflection of the stream, I took a moment for self assessment. At first I barely recognized the image I saw there.

Not quite the porcelain doll that I came here as. I'd taken on a honey coated glaze like a California girl from the warm days of the summer all the way down to the sun bleached platinum of my blonde hair. The shock white streak was no longer as noticeable though it had taken on a silvery hue.

I knew women once that would pay fortunes to have the chisel that came naturally here from the hard work and day to day living. No way was the kalmak raven first made for me going to fit now, not even if I added a strip all the way from swell to swell although I still ran my fingers over it now and then with a reverence for all that it could have brought out within me. My hands had what my grandmother called character. They spoke of knowing the feel of the world around me, the nails no longer the delicate smooth cresents but a slight taloned curve. Useful, purposeful. It wasn't a childlike waif that returned my gaze from the surface of the stream but a beautiful, self assured woman, one that was relishing the life she led, one that still had a lifetime ahead of her. All in all, what I saw wasn't so bad. At least I don't think it was.

I had begun to create structured routines that provided a frame for me. It was perhaps the one good thing I could remember of my father, the strict adherance to organization. It was where I functioned best, having parameters that were clear cut, unchangeable ... a solid foundation. Now where the lines in the sand were unclear, the habits helped stabilize. It gave me a feeling of being able to stretch out, unfurl, grow. Those parameters may be as wide as the plains but knowing that they were there was comfortable.

Early mornings were my time. I usually spend the time out among the herds gathering dung or fetching water away from everyone else. Not thinking, not creating a vortex of jumbled concepts, just waking, just savoring the sights of the bosk, the grass and watching the sky for sign of what the rest of day held. Sometimes opportunity would offer a chance for blackwine at the fires with those closest to me. I think I savor those times most. The bantering would often set the tone of the day, the laughter and the smiles or pondering some philosophy of the stars and the bosk that would continue on to the next task at hand what ever it may be.

This time when I touched the surface of the water, the ripples it created no longer distorted the image I could see.

Double or nothing

Everyone knows that wagering with a slave is sheer sport. There is nothing she can bet that could not be had for the simple command of giving it, so it had been purely for entertainment that Keska had taken my challenge. I'd not prayed to my God since coming here, rather adapting to the concepts of the Sky, wind and grass of my people but I did whisper a request for luck from ... something.

It was a race, a lizard race that we had anted up for. Pretty much like an armored gatch marathon only using prairie lizards instead. The rules? No rules, just the first across the finish line to be the winner. As soon as the reptiles were set on the line, Keska's took off like a flash, mine was licking the air to see what little tasties were near by. I waited for what felt like an eternity and his racer was half way down the track before I bent over and snagged the creature up by its midsection and winged him like a frizbee over the line carved in the dirt.

Now this did not settle well with him and he was screetching about that not being fair but the other men reminded him that he agreed, no rules. I was the proud new owner of a saddle. Now it wasn't the finest saddle among the harriga, in fact it so direly needed repairs that he never really felt he was losing anything. Still he wanted justice for such a blatant display of trickery.

Double or nothing .. alright then, line 'em up again.

No rules?

No rules.

Both lizards were settled in on the starting line and turned loose. There was new found pride as mine tore off in a more hurried attempt to make it to the end. Guess his last flying lesson had ... encouraged him. I waited, watching Keska this time. Sure enough he bent to pick up the critter thinking he was going to sail him over the far end as I had. I had to cover my mouth to hide my merriment when he stood holding nothing more than the tail, still wriggling in his grasp. The look on his face was priceless and it got even better when my lizard sort of wandered over the finish line then flicked that forked tongue in the air in lazy triumph. I now had some rusty old tack and a frayed blanket to go with it.

I was still trying to still my racing heart as I gathered everything up and began hauling it back to the supply wagon I slept under. It was a start.

Soul Mate

So many thoughts tumbled in my head of late, turning over and over like a broken record that I felt as if each spiral grew more twisted. Right now I didn't want to think anymore. When the posts were driven into the ground to create the kaiila pens, I was more than ready to help. It had been Master Ramza during the trail that had taught me to let those who know how to do, do what they knew how to do and help only where I knew how. So I listened for needs that I could be of help with. Holding supplies within easy reach, fetching a this or a that when it was needed or just getting out of the way now and then. It was the kind of work that drove away demons from your thoughts, muscle binding, mind numbing, sweat pouring, lets get this done labor.
By the time the kaiila were ready to cut into the pens, I was sitting on top of a rail with a water bota, letting the contents pour down over my face. The stampede of taloned claws tore into the grass and dirt sending it flying into the air like jets of water out the sides of a ski-doo. It was a magnificent sight to behold. Then I saw him. He was a fire breathing dragon with smoke pluming from his nostrils. Each line of muscle rippled beneath the velvet fur as the central fire bathed over his flank and legs. The trod of his claws shredded the ground as he wove back and forth until he finally reared his full height in defiance right in front of me. His shadow engulfed me as if I were an ant seen from a far away mountain top. I froze in place just watching it all.
The plummet of his forelegs barely missed snatching me off the rail though he was still fury in action. He pounced and reared over and over again, sending wisps of his mane splaying around him like a black halo. He stirred a passion inside the likes I had never known. When he stopped and stood still, he stared right into my soul. His breath blew searing hot against my face. His eyes seemed like glowing coals and in the liquid surface of one of them, I saw my own reflection. I had never wanted, coveted anything so deeply in my whole life .. not the animal .. his spirit. When he raised once more I could hear the handlers calling me from far away. To get down, to be careful, to get out of the way .. but as the beast spun and raced along the fencing, I was off the rail as well, running full out on the other side of the fence to keep up with him.
A massive arm clothes-lined my mid section taking the winded breath out of me at the same time this enchantment sprung and cleared the fence like he was a ballet dancer. I could only watch as he galloped into the distance. He was free .. at least for now but he had taken something of me with him. I buried my face into the chest of the Master, holding on as tight as I could, grasping at tidbits of my mind and soul that seemed to be fleeing in the wind. There was no time for dizzy little slaves or their fantasies and he wrenched me free just to toss me against the fence post but I never felt it.

Inner Woman

In the past few hands there had been a thread of topic that wove its way into conversations .. family. Although I was pleased that there was now true interest rather than the chiding taunts, it grew uncomfortable when the spotlight was turned to me. Cana and Aiyana had spoken with me a little of my mother. My responses were always warm and open when I spoke of her.

It was a slave that stumbled into the darkness that is reserved for my paternal seed donor. I admit I flared rather quickly. I do not remember much of him. I'd erased his presence from my thoughts as far back as my childhood. What glimpses I can recall I wished I could not. To me he was cruel, cold, demanding without having any emotional attachment. He drove people, he made their decisions for them without any heed to their own wants and desires. His only love was money, land, power. I had no wish to be like him so my life among the Tuchuk suits me well. There is more there than I will speak openly of, revelations that will not come easy and only with trust.

On the other hand, I had no wish to be like my mother either, a woman who lost herself in one man, she gave her all, serving him and his needs quietly, selflessly. I can picture her when I close my eyes, her beauty, the love and deep devotion she would offer in stolen moments. In so many ways she did not exist in more than a shadow. She became nothing because it was what she was to him.

How had the conversation turned to the descriptive differences of camp slaves and personally owned ones? Had my thoughts been so consumed with memories of my family that I missed a part? Perhaps it was about the need for coin now as a slave or rather not having any need of it. Maybe it had something to do with balance, regardless I listened to the definition of slave from another .. the loss of self, giving in totally to be found pleasing if only for one moment in time and seeking nothing further and on to self deprivation to enhance the intensity of the precious moment when something is offered.

I listened to the contrast of Mastery when one is owned by one and only one, only then would there be a wish to know what was within the heart, mind and soul of a slave and the interim to live only for the ihn, to change who or what one is to please one's Master. All the while I was shaking my head. These were many of the things that were part of my training in the cities, but it was so alien to me in many ways. Perhaps it is because I had benefit of different slavers, that my personality was allowed me to a degree. It may be that my own will and spirit are so strongly rooted that it could not be burnt away so easily. I do not mean it to sound as if I believe these things are wrong nor do I believe in my believing differently is necessarily right. Afterall, I am no longer a personal slave.

I can only offer from my own experiences here on the plains. Yes, it was in part the beauty of the elegant serves that brought a bit of notice and too, the absolute adherence to obedience though it was not until I broke from within the confines of that training to stand and speak openly, spiritedly that gained one man's attention enough to place a band of leather on my throat. I told her that it was a wise man that set my path forward. I have never forgotten his words ... One was to live. I may have taken that literally but each day I do. I take care of myself, to ensure that I am healthy. I will snitch a piece of meat from a pot or indulge in a sip of blackwine to ward off a chill. I live not only for every breath that defies morbidity but to snatch as much of the day out as I possibly can ... to see, to feel, to taste everything there is to experience, to be able to offer back as much of the richness that I can hoard into a bounty. I do this because it is my interpretation of what he asked of me.

The Second was to not lose myself. Now there is the fuse that lit the dynamite. It is so easy to lose oneself in the charisma, the vitality of such a virile man. Easy enough that I had felt my own grasp failing me at times. It was not a mere battle of wills to stand on my beliefs but an inner struggle as well. I learn every day more of who I am inside, strengthening her and bringing out her attributes. I stumble, I fall, I pick myself back up and go on with determination but I stand and face the world on my own.

Am I any different, truly, than the description that was offered of a slave, regardless if it is a camp slave or one personally owned? I am still his in my heart, his and his alone. I will always be. My love for him doesn't fade or diminish because I am no longer at his feet. He is a man of magic, a man of ferocity, a man capable of ...

I will learn to thrive here as the woman I am within or I will die holding dear to my promises. I will learn to be strong. Strong enough not to fear even the darkness maybe one day finding it welcoming. I want to see the south again not because it holds any fondness in my heart but it is a passing of time. I want to return to the north here over and over again to investigate all that it has in store. I want to carve out my lot in this life, not just this ihn but ... all of my tomorrows. In the mean time I serve the Tuchuk as a whole ... as me. I will sink my teeth in and bite off a future among the tribe as a woman who loves a man deeply, deeply enough to live for him and not lose herself in doing so. My last breath is not my own anymore ... he has yet to take it and this time I dare fate to try and take what is his.

Contemplation

AN UNCONSCIOUS THEREAFTER
Once upon a time surely far from here beyond an eery fog near an uncertain fear knelt a clue searching for a spire unwinding within some muck and mire where we find ourselves entangled within confusion searching for answers or perhaps transfusion a sort of morphine drip that knows our name or what we once looked like on some descending plane where we once were or hoped to to be perhaps in a time of uninvolved inquiry between what might have been or will never be ...... there lies the rub an itch or a snub ... ruba dub dub or maybe a thought to assign never sought within an image blind blurred as it never once occurred where this might lead following behind subserviantly indeed into some void where we are encased annoyed enraptured and captured by an afterthought in fact precariously caught and intertwined by an ever expanding calculated design that leads slowly and impatiently to nowhere fast where we often find ourselves taken aback or aghast wondering was it worth this dissension or plight despite all the needless apprehension now subdued near a place not far from here cantankerously imbued with a clinging fear still cleverly disguised while poking us deeply within our outstretched eyes pulling in sights we never believed true in hopes of deriving a room without such a view from which we find ourselves now endlessly deceived longing for an unconsious there after finally relieved
James A Galgano