It makes you just smile

You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine
You make me happy
when skies are gray
You'll never know dear,
how much I love you
Please don't take
my sunshine away
~Soggy Bottom Boys

Ahns turned into days and days turned into hands. There was a quiet that had fallen over the harigga. There was evidence that others were about by the smoke that curled from the fires, the scent of sage the Haruspex burned or the full water barrels the slaves kept vigil over ... we just rarely ran into each other. Maybe it was a time of healing for all of us. The journey south had been hard on the Tribe in many ways, it had been toughest on our souls. Each would have to come to terms with the events that had unfolded as we each were touched in different and unique ways.

I had to chuckle hearing the year keepers arguing over what the year might be called this time ... The great Silence, The Season of the lost bosk or the Year of the Winds. There was passion there in their clan that was good to see. I found myself eagerly awaiting the final verdict but then like most things not in immediate sight, I forgot there was even a debate going on.

I was rounding the end of one of the wagons coming back from the kaiila pens when I heard her long before I ever saw the girl. sleen was singing at the top of her lungs about the central fire and some lover who was the center of her universe at that moment. It just made me smile .. one of those ear to ear sappy ones that you can't wash off even if you scrub,

I had a suggestion for the year keepers .. maybe they could remember this time as the Song of the Sleen.

There was a prophecy in the making there.

Timbre Winds

On timbre winds I take flight
High above the clouds I go
Soaring high into the sky
No fear of what's below
Higher now with wind I fly
Not looking back from whence I came
The gentle drafts do lift me high
And I fly higher yet again
Into the stars to heavens; gate
With timbre winds I gently glide
On thermal drafts this flight I take
Will lead me to your side
I perch on top of heavens gate
As timbre winds blow by
So patiently I do wait
I let out a mournful cry
He hears my call and turns around
A hand to me he lends
I then take flight without a sound
On silent wing with timbre winds

Snowy Owl Spirit

Just Ride Part Three

There was excitement threading among the Midnight Wagons at the rise of the central fire. The packs were filled for the journey with portions of jerky to chew on and botas of water or in Duran's case ... paga. If that man ever took a sip of water he would probably get drunk and pass out. We had enough small items to make some good trades. It was going to be an interesting trip, little did we know at the time just how interesting.

Once we could see the line of dweller wagons in front of us, Duran and Sage gave signal for the women to remain back a little. Never know what silly outsiders will do and they had no intentions of any of us getting hurt. We had merely come for some trade, I swear that was all we had in mind ... honestly. Petra and I watched as the men approached to meet the first of the wagons. From the distance it all seemed to go well, those nods and pointings that men do when posturing for each other. Then it seemed everything went into slow motion. It wasn't our tunnel vision that created the scene but the dwellers themselves moving slowly. Hands began to reach in the air and each of them slipped off the buckboards. Sage gave the signal for the rest of us to approach. I would never have believed it if I hadn't witnessed it with my own two eyes. The caravan was surrendering everything they had as long as the women could go free and they could all leave safely. They were literally begging for the Tuchuk men to please .. please take all that they had. I think we all blinked a few times and decided to give the dwellers what they asked. We took what they had and watched as they scurried into the openness of the plains, unarmed, without supplies and on foot. I almost laughed remembering a story I had told Fonce once about the Celts and how they won battles much the same way.

Duran shrugged and Sage finally fell off his kaiila laughing when they were all well out of sight. Petra, Marnus and I took reins on the bosk and turned the wagons back toward the harigga and I finally leaned out to ask Duran what the &^%$ had just happened. He lifted a brow without ever looking at me to answer ... just ride woman ...shut up and just ride.

During the journey back I pondered the many things that had swirled in my head, Tarra's neglected advise, the strain in the friendship with Cana, Ba'atar, the talks with Ramza, the talks with Kam, that urgent feel of wanting to be somewhere I wasn't, that feeling of anxiety that didn't go away. I'd watched how fear had made a simple situation become a nightmare for those that gave into it. The dwellers had reacted to their fears not the unassuming arrival of the Tuchuk. Hadn't I been doing the same thing in different ways.

It all came into wonderfully crystal clear focus when I looked up to see the myriad of multi-colored wagons stretched out in front of us once more. I relaxed and realized that right now, here was where I belonged and no, I would not fear that it wasn't.

Just Ride Part Two

The next day I went to find the commander. There were too many things running through my head to leave swirling in elliptical spirals. So many of these things I would speak to my guardian about but no one had seen him for some time. Who would have thought I would be willing and actually eager to talk with Fonce? I was or would be but it would have to be Kam that bore the brunt of a young woman's confusion. I figured it would be a good excuse to start with the plans for the ride to the meadow. Now I know better than to mess with Kam and try to hash words with him and got a good reminder of not to. Yes, he thought it would be fine for Ramza and I to go for a ride and yes, he saw no harm in going with Duran and Sage to the caravan. I could bring back whatever we found.

I was the one that exposed the jugular and the predator pounced in thirstily. I worry. Those that know me know I am compulsive at it but it was the elder that slit that wide open to find what was inside of it ... I was worried ... about ... it all came flooding out as if he had hit an artery ... whether my coming to the tribe had not been a good thing. Adapting to the superstitions of the Tribe perhaps I was the reason for all of the hardships that had been experienced in the past few seasons. Did I feel that way as a free person or all together and how did I come to this way of thinking? Now that caught me off guard as it often does when you expose light into the shadowy recesses of darkness You could almost hear the screeching, scritching of creepy crawlies run scattering back to where they came from.

I tripped all over my female logic trying to explain about sleepless nights and having a .. feeling then launched right into how Tribe was important to me and that I wanted only what was best for my people even if that meant I wasn't good for them, then maybe I should ... It had sounded good in my head but saying it all out loud it made no sense whatsoever. Told you that self pity does not look good on me, didn't I? As if he were untangling threads of an impossible knot, he began to draw out each point away from the others. My eyes were open now to a whole new world and still I couldn't digest it. Well true but I would not return to a collar. I did not have it within me, I am quiet spoken much too often for my own good but I was not a slave at heart. There was that mask without visible emotion when he simply said .. and still you are unsure of yourself. Could I argue that? Probably not but ... I did.

I had learned a great deal in the past seasons and knew I had much more to learn. Whatever courage I was managing to screw upward from the depths was left deflated when he lay a half question, half statement out ... that now I knew the difference between being a slave and a free woman. I wanted to scream at him .. dammit I was betrayed, I was lied to, the guidelines of the tribe had been violated just as I had been when a warrior grabbed me .. me ... a prospect at the time ... and raped a kiss from me, illiciting emotions that I had not wanted to give in the beginning. I wanted to cry out of the injustices of not having known it wasn't proper and my actions covered and given absolution but now .. now dammit .. I was the one having to face all that had transpired and be held for my actions ... mine and no one else. Instead it was more a quiet confession than a volatile confidence .. yes .. I knew the differences.

Well that had not gone as I wanted it, to be sure. Did I want him to be wrong? Did I want to manipulate him into saying all the things I wanted to hear? No, but I wanted to be right. I just wasn't.

I'm female without a doubt. When I left him, I was angry. I was hurt. I was frustrated to no end but I was grateful that he had given me many things to think about. Revelation of what he had meant would come with time but for now he dismissed me to go and prepare.

At the time I had thought he was talking about the ride.

Just Ride

Someday we'll put it together and we'll get all done
Someday your head is much lighter
Someday we'll walk in the race of a beautiful sun
Someday when the world is much brighter
Ooh child, things are gonna get easier
Ooh child, things will get brighter
Ooh child, things are gonna get easier
Ooh child, things will get brighter
Nina Simone

According to physics, a body in motion stays in motion. That is my explanation of why I wanted to saddle Sin, kick my heels and just ride wide open as fast as I could toward the horizon and leap off the edge like the world was flat. Maybe I would enjoy the free fall like a bungee jump despite the fact there was no rubber band to stop me. Maybe that was why when Duran, Sage and Petra were speaking of traveling to a caravan for trade I jumped at the chance to go with them.

I was still toying with that ride into the horizon idea when I settled in around the fires. The one constant in my world besides those of the Midnight Wagons is Ramza. He walks or rides with me on the trails. He will stop by the wagons just to see if I need anything and late ahns are often spent just talking together. We talk of everything and anything. Sometimes he talks so much I can barely get a word in edgewise, sometimes it is the other way around. Regardless of who is running their mouth, his ways are often calming. I told him I was thinking of going to the cities, going out over the plains ... somewhere .. anywhere. I told him everything except the jumping off the edge part and he simply said, he would miss me. I asked if he ever felt like that .. just riding without ever looking back. Sometimes. Well, what did he do about it? His uncomplicated answers go straight through the heart. He said relaxes and realizes that right now, here is where he belongs. How do you argue with that kind of logic?

The gentle kiss that followed both told me that he would indeed miss me and at the same time it scared me. The last man that had done such had only wanted to see me in steel. I hadn't realized I spoke those thoughts aloud. Ramza almost seemed angry even though the touch of his fingers were like velvet when he brushed strands off my temple back where they belonged. If he had wanted me in steel, didn't I think he would have done that by now? Straight to the point pure honesty, something I had not seen from a man since coming here. When I confessed that what hurt most was not being able to trust anyone anymore, I asked him to forgive me for making him part of the collective. He didn't deserve that. His answer was to reach for my hand and turn it to press a kiss to my palm. I stared at where our hands met for a long time before he walked me back to my wagon and asked me to return from the caravan safely.

It was a leap of faith deciding that this was one of the few people I could actually put my trust in. Somewhere in all of that, we made plans to ride out to the flower meadow that I had wanted to visit again. It surprised me that he remembered it but I would ask Kam if it would be alright.

Making up lost time

We walked the narrow path,
beneath the smoking skies.
Sometimes you can barely tell the difference
between darkness and light.
Do you have faith
in what we believe?
The truest test is when we cannot,
when we cannot see.
...
It won't rain all the time
The sky won't fall forever.
And though the night seems long,
your tears won't fall, your tears won't fall,
your tears won't fall
forever.
~Jane Siberry

There had been many who stopped by the row of Midnight Wagons during the move. Some came by to see how I was doing, some to share the warmth of a fire and congenial conversations, but the fact is they cared and without having to say so, they showed me that they did. I, myself, rode or walked ahead each day to bring meals, gifts, or to see how others were doing. I usually made the visits brief preferring my isolation but one of those trips became a turning point.

A true friend is one that will tell you to get yer arse up, dust yer self off and get over it. These were the things that Kam had done ... not in those exact words but in his own ever sweet solicitous way. If you know the man you have an idea of what I'm saying. It all began and pretty much ended with the suggestion of moving my wagons up where they belonged. He had a point, the closer I was to the front, the quicker could I set up and relax when we reached the southern plains. The bonus would be less dust between here and there to deal with.

I'm smart enough to know those who have offered good advice and would be much wiser in heeding it. The commander was not a man to repeat himself so there was no hesitation to do as he said. In fact, I moved the wagons close to his with his approval.

It is all a matter of trust. There are those that have proven themselves to be good friend, ones that I now consider closer than blood. Sadly enough, there are those that I know not to, but knowing is its own arsenal.

Are the quivas sharp?

One would keep them so.

Expression

The wagons are said to be countless, the animals without number. Both of these claims are, of course, mistaken, The Ubars of the Wagon Peoples know well each wagon and the number of branded beasts in the various herds; each herd is, incidentally, composed of several smaller herds, each watched over by its own riders. The bellowing seemed now to come from the sky itself, like thunder, or from-the horizon, like the breaking of an ocean into surf on the rocks of the shore. It was like a sea or a vast natural phenomenon slowly approaching. Such indeed, I suppose, it was. Now, also, for the first time, I could clearly smell the herd, a rich, vast, fresh, musky, pervasive odor, compounded of trampled grass and torn earth, of the dung, urine and sweat of perhaps more than a minion beasts. The magnificent vitality of that smell, so offensive to some, astonished and thrilled me; it spoke to me of the insurgence and the swell of life itself, ebullient, raw, overflowing, unconquerable, primitive, shuffling, smelling, basic, animal, stamping, snorting, moving, an avalanche of tissue and blood and splendor, a glorious, insistent, invincible cataract of breathing and walking and seeing and feeling on the sweet, flowing, windswept mothering earth. And it was in that instant that I sensed what the bosk might mean to the Wagon Peoples.

Two fingers pointed toward his eyes then his palm flattened to move out ... extending away from him as far as his arm could reach in a smooth glide. 'A see, Linna .. a see'. He was describing to me the depth of a feeling that swept over him. The bosk. He spoke of riding through them and looking up and their numbers were as far as the eye could see ... a sea of sacredness. Allowing the sky, the wind and the grass itself lead him safely. If there had been any fear in the boy at that time, there was none to be seen in the recounting of the tale. The bull had come to him. His brother. The conviction I heard in his voice left no doubt that this was what he believed in his heart to be true. It was purely reverence.
He spoke too of seeing among this 'see', his own people in the same continuation, his sons and his son's sons among the bosk. His visions were so strong that I felt them in my heart and could see them as if I had stood there at his side. He was coming into his own right among the Tribe and I had been privileged to witness this wonder in his expression, in the play of his features and I could see the many scars that he would bear in a lifetime.

There was a sense of something greater than mere pride and arrogance that swelled in my chest ... something for lack of a better term to offer those who read this in their own native language ... spiritual. I sat there in silence listening to every word, watching every movement of his hands, of his shoulders and the straightening of his height to stand taller than I have ever seen him. There was no resemblance of the boy I had first met .. here stood the persona of a man .. a Tuchuk man filling his lungs with his plains.

His brother ... his first bosk would have a fine name. He would be called Nili and he would sire great herds that thundered across the lands of the Tuchuk.

Later I would tell him that Cana had given him a dun colt with white markings on his nose and the wagon and bosk that pulled it. These would remain in my trust until he received his first scar. Rusty was giving him one of the foals due by the time we camped in the south as well. For now I left him celebrating among the men, taking with me only the memory of the expressions.

There was no anger inside me to taint this moment. Just understanding ... enlightenment if you will. I whispered to the wind, to all that had touched one young warrior's life ... Thank You.

page 3

Visions behind closed eyes.

The tea Deenyet had given me held cradled in my hands without taking a sip of the soothing herbs. I sat looking at the murial I'd begun on the canvas inside my wagon. Something other than the children, no other had seen. It had been a vision that I could not shake since its beginning .. a want, a need .. a desire to see stretched before me. It had started on my world and still haunted me even now.

The colors on the canvas faded to another moment ... the vision of a woman close to the fires and a warrior leaning down from his saddle with his hand extended. Was it not the mirror image of another night? I hear his words like an echo, the sound of a singers voice, velvet in its touch to the ears ... Come.

I close my eyes and feel my hand slide into his and know the lift into the saddle with him. I know the feel of my shoulder resting against his chest, my head in the hollow of his throat. I can hear the symphony of his heartbeats as well as the inhale that rends his senses with the scent of me. The lope of the beast beneath us that buffets our closeness to and fro until he draws me tight, firmly so their is no barrier between us except the leather that clings with heated mist of two bodies.

The destination had been mapped for my eyes before, written on flesh and signed .. the message had been clear and understood. It had not been the first time that I'd walked away though with urging time and time again had been sent back to speak with him. The line of the hill marked at its highest point beneath the lowest star .. that place where the sky and the land meet. The vision of him standing beneath the moonslights, lit by their glow .. magnificent.

I would hear the haunting melody and feel the meaning .. of all the beautiful things thought of, of what is felt within .. the depths of it all until the tears dammed behind my closed eyes. To loosen them would not be to let them fall but to be lifted to the sky so that they cascade over the plains like rain .. falling fast, falling hard to seep along the dry ground to seek the source. Perhaps there, they would be lifted once more as a sip to quench a thirst.

It is now I open my eyes and I still see the outstretch of a hand .. the image that I had dreamed of seeing on more occasions than at the stream. I see different one paused there and I look to the woman, a woman that had watched me ride away with him once before and I watch her turn and walk away.

My hand had not risen to meet his but now as the bowl fell to the flooring my fingers lifted to touch the canvas.

One day there will be the clasp of wrist to wrist in a grasp that is meant to be and I won't turn loose.

interim

... scribbled in the margin between pages ...

The calm glass finish of a swift moving stream may camoflage a raging undertow below. It is the same with the depths of human emotions. Although it is preferable to be close to others in theory ... to family ... to friends ... to the world in general, the risk of getting hurt can prevent us from exposing our vulnerabilities. We may want to press against even our own resistances and the flux makes it harder to share the tenderness that accompanies our insecurities ... the depths of the current.

Despite my naturally outgoing nature, I gave myself permission to withdraw ... to be reserved ... quiet without glimpse of the forces that were at work within me. There simply wasn't ... exposure for any and all to see .. to judge or misjudge beneath their own social expectations.

It would be only for a short time then those closest would have privilege of seeing beneath the glass surface.

What's in a name

It was said a youth of the Wagon Peoples was taught the bow, the quiva and the lance before their parents would consent to give him a name, for names are precious among the Wagon Peoples, as among Goreans in general, and they are not to be wasted on someone who is likely to die, one who cannot well handle the weapons of the hunt and war. Until the youth has mastered the bow, the quiva and the lance he is simply known as the first, or the second, and so on, son of such and such a father.

I'd seen a great source of pride in the boy when he went off to the warrior's wagons to help hitch the teams. Pride that he was earning his first bosk with the honesty of hard work. There was no doubt that it was still there when he returned with fresh meat and the tales of having helped, though, watching the terse corner of his mouth and the glint in the dark eyes, I knew meant many things went through the young warrior's mind. While the meat roasted and the repairs were being made it took coaxing to get what bothered him to spill. It had been things he had heard, things he had been told when he was helping see to the teams, such as parentage, lineage ... names. My heart sunk a little.

I knew this was an extremely touchy subject for him. He wasn't fond of the descriptive name "Me Too", and no, it no longer fit him very well. He was growing into capabilities that were more evident each day. His pride had spat out more than once that he was First Son of all wagons and no wagon. Courage to stand in the face of those who met him and admit he had no father that he knew of had shown the boy's inner character. To me, to be reduced from First Son of any warrior even one that was not there to raise his heir, regardless of the reason, to be considered hundredth or last was insult. My teeth clinched together tightly in trying to contain my anger. Perhaps it is wrong of me to think this way but it is how I feel.

Would I coddle the child and offer soft spoken words that salved the soul and healed the heart? No. It was a harsh world he lived in and he would have to grow to live within in it ... a part of it. My own words left a thickening in my throat having to apply the same wisdom to myself. I asked him to tell me who he was on the inside. He thought for a time before he said, 'Strength,' tapping his chest arrogantly, 'in here'. I had to agree that it was what I saw as well. Then I asked him what he could see himself as in the future, not as clan but the man, the warrior, he would be. Orlu. That came without hesitation. Not an Oralu? Not Ubar? 'Perhaps', was his answer. He believed he could one day lead one hundred, of that he was certain. It was something he felt inside, something deeply rooted. He spoke with such confidence that he made me see him there as well. If the sky realized that he was the best suited among all of the other warriors to lead more, he would not refute her wisdom. Spoken like a true Tuchuk, I thought.

Until he had shown his skills with the bow, quiva and the lance he would not earn the name that he would live by, instead he would be known by a descriptive such as First Son or like some of the women's monikers to keep so many boys separate in conversations ... Tug, Wily or Sonny or it could be his goal for the future. For now, Hundred ... Jagun, was his, if he desired. Rusty had sat there listening and agreed though I could see the same tense lines along his brow and the narrowing at the corners of his eyes. Something was brewing deep in that head that would come to light later.

In the meantime, I went inside the flap of my wagon and drew out an elongated porcelain dish. It had been one of my prized possessions but it seemed fitting that it would find a new home. A portion of the roasted meat was lined along its bottom. With the dish, I gathered a basket full of eggs and began walking back up the lanes to give to the the singer's family. Deenyet and Sage kept me company and to make sure the offering wasn't misunderstood for anything other than recognition of their generosity.

I spent only a few moments talking to the warrior's mother and her youngest son as well. The young man had done well learning the kaiila and plans were made to continue teaching him as promised. I believe she knew I would not visit their circle again without reason. As always the woman was a gracious hostess, understanding the need to return back down the lanes. There was still much to do, to be able to pull back out on the trail again.