Grains of Sand

I can still feel the grains of sand on my hands. The night slipped away from me within my wagon, with my head resting along one of the wooden ribs. The pads of my palms rolled against each other. There is no secret of how I feel about a particular warrior, except that it remains unsaid to the warrior himself. Gentle teasings and proddings had encouraged me to speak those emotions aloud, to give them voice. Was there so much surprise at my answer? What I felt went far beyond what I'd ever felt of any other, not this intensity, not this .. depth .. no .. it was heard right ... no other ... ever.

All I knew was that absence had created an ache in the hollow of my chest so bad it felt I could not breathe. I missed the laughter, I missed the bantering. I missed ... him. It seemed as if it had been forever since his voice echoed across the fires, whispered beneath the moonslight. Was he safe, was he alright? It had been prophetic understanding .. I was worrying myself sick.

I had to walk, I had to find air, the wagon was stifling me and the tred of my boots crossed the plains to the small tributary .. water. It was my shoreline like the coast. Here beneath the stars maybe I could find some peace to a raging mind and thundering heart. I feel like a fool. I feel as if I look into the great blue sky expecting to spread wings to soar and am tugged by the weighted fear of tumbling endlessly against every cloud, every star there is until I know them all by name. I couldn't bear to look up, instead I waded to the middle of the stream to curl in upon myself, to brace my head in the cradle of my arms and let the inner rain fall unashamed. Not until the meloncholy was spent could my hand clear my cheek and reach for a pebble. It never found its mark. The sounds behind me, spun me around.

Was it a vision? An apparition? I was up and running through the currents heedless of how each bootfall sprayed droplets of water as high as my waist until I was only feet away. It took all of the strength I had within me not to simply bowl him over, topple him right into the stream in embrace, in a covering of kisses that said how much his being away had affected me, to just stand there spellbound by that face, those eyes, that grin. He had returned safe and inwardly there was a rejoicing, peels of delight rending the air and a dance of thanksgiving to the sky, but I just stood there. This not knowing what to do with my hands always leave them to flutter in front of me, wanting to reach out, resisting the urge until they simply hover. Had I missed him? Damnable arrogance! Had he been gone? Where was his kiss? It would be twice now that there was no doubt of my aim or his. There was no mistaking the smiles that replaced witty ones either of us usually have.

It would not be until the firmness of an arm drew me closer that I would actually realize .. there was nothing but my clothing and ... simply Tuchuk there. I'd given it no thought whatsoever but the evidence was hard to ignore. Perhaps he may have missed me a little bit too. Hadn't I been there? Yes, every moment, every ihn. I rebutted the offer to get naked and join him but he may as well turned around so I could see to the spots he missed. It was far too late to swoon and run scampering to the bank.

It was a task taken seriously. That give of sore muscles beneath my palm told me of the days of riding, the tensions of more than just standing Tuchuk ala stars and I willed them away with the firmness of seeing them soothed. How long had it been since I felt the lilt of a far away lullaby pass my lips? To fill the air with those soft sung songs without words? I gave in to them now. When the sand had all been rinsed clear, I turned to cross the shoal heading for the bank, my hands brushing away the damp sand clinging to my leathers. I didn't say a word. I didn't look back. I didn't stop until the familiarity of my own rows of wagons was in front of me.

I can still feel the grains of sand on my hands, like those in an hourglass spilling between my fingers .. this and the quiet hum of tune to keep me company. I touch that soft spot beneath my breast to savor the peaceful easy feeling that is there. It is the same natural feel when I am with him, down to the touch that my hand curls over with the same tenderness as the kisses that he covers them with.

I can't deny that my head wages war with my heart, it is one that I do not have answers or battle strategies for. Part of me thinks it is best not to see him again though Cana suggests that I tell him how I feel, yet when I see him, there are no words that come or feel needed. As I walk along side the wagon now, I look out over the bosk, hear their song and see not the body of the man, not a simple wish to topple into his furs but the edge of his smile, the depths of his eyes that haunts me so. Instead there is a wish to hear more of his feelings of the sky, of life, to know the depths of his heart. I see a myriad of cherubic faces surrounding us, that innocence and trust like the multitudes of stars. The only thing that both my head and my heart agree on is that I will never plead submission again, not to him, not to any man but it doesn't break the spell. It isn't a curse, there is no logic .. I think it is madness.