A long overdue delivery of gifts.

Things have began to settle down somewhat, and I cannot even express the pride that I have in the way the people have come together to rebuild. It does not totally absolve me of my responsibility in what happened, but I draw a small amount of peace knowing that we will survive. Each day, I see new signs of life among the people. I see them working hard and working together. That is what we are about.


There is still much to do, but I have found that my faith in them grows stronger each day. It is my faith in myself that wanes some of the time. I wonder if other Ubar's have gone through this, second guessing themselves, their actions, their decisions when it came to their people? Perhaps soon, I will talk to Fonce, ask him. But for now, all I can do is take each day as it comes. My problem is, I find myself wavering when it comes to decisions and that has to stop.


Today, I finally took a mental and physical deep breath and went to do something I should have done long ago. I am not sure if anyone really realizes how much I miss my contact with Oren, and those of her wagons. I have found myself avoiding them because of the situation with Mezoo. I do not want to cause any undue stress to her, them or myself, to be honest, but I have some things to deliver, and damn it, I simply want to see Oren, even if she cracks me on the shins. It will be a welcome pain.


I carried the wooden box with the precious gift in it that I had for Oren, not trusting it to anyone else, and was followed by two of my men carrying the more bulky gifts that were for Astar. As I approached, I had to stop and just watch. There is life here, a simple, honorable life of people surviving. There is strength in these women, that give me insight into Mezoo. I still hope she finds what she seeks and the happiness that it will bring her.


I think that Oren saw me, but at the moment decided to see exactly what I would do. I nodded to her then went to find Astar. I can see where Mezoo gets her beauty, for Astar is a beautiful woman and exudes a certain kind of peace and grace, that just makes you want to smile. With the men following me, I walked up to her, and for some reason, felt like a smoothed cheeked boy. I simply blurted out, that I had brought these to her, and turned to motion to the two new looms that my men sat down. Damn it all Ayguili! I babbled about having gotten them in Turia when we were there for the Love Wars, and of being assure they were well made and would serve her for many years.


She placed her hand on my arm, smiled and I began to calm down. She asked me why? Now, at this point, you just don't tell a woman that they had been intended for her as gifts because you had intentions of mating her daughter, that was not going to happen now, do you? I got a firmer grip on the box that I carried and explained to her that my mother was a weaver, and that I knew how important a good loom was to her, and that I wanted for Astar to have these and looked forward to seeing the blankets and cloth she made from them.


She knew, but was gracious enough to not say anything. Skies love that woman. She inspected the looms then turned to me a little surprised, I think, that I had chosen well. Thanks were offered, then a small chide about friends needing to come around more often. I promised her that I would come around more often, or as often as my duties would allow me. She motioned for the men as to where to put the things, and that she had found out that Alma was also an artisan who dealt in making pots, and that maybe someone should think about seeing if I could find a potters wheel. She was subtle about it, and I had to laugh, and promise that if there was one to be had, the woman would have it soon. What is it about these women, that make you want to do exactly what they say?


Astar walked off laughing softly, but not before giving a cant of her head to where Oren was sitting on the platform of her wagon. It was a subtle hint, but one that I took. Walking towards the wagon I gave the woman a respectful nod and asked how she was. Wrong thing to do. I believe she said something along the lines of friends came around more often, to see how a poor, frail, old woman was faring. I need to explain here, that there is nothing frail about Oren. If anything, she is one of the strongest people that I know, and not only physically, but mentally. But, I took that scolding in stride, then made a bold move, did not even ask, but sat down on the platform beside her.


Her head turned, brow arching and I could almost feel the impending blow to my shins from that ever present staff, so I shoved the box to her before she could deliver it, and told her these were for her. I could almost see the thoughts going through her head, on whether to lay these staff aside long enough to take the box, or to keep it in hand and ignore the gift. Thankfully, she propped the staff against the step and took the box. For a moment, I had a reprieve.


Placing the box on her thighs, she lifted the lid, and I will swear I saw a softening of her features. Inside, nestled in a nest of straw were four cups. These were not just any cups, but delicate cups made from something known as china, each one painted with an intricate scene of birds and flowers. Not the kind of heavy, clay mugs that our people usually used, but something more beautiful, more acetic. When she went to lay the lid aside, I reached out to steady the box on her lap.


I want you to have these as a gift, because although I do not come around as much, I still have a great deal of respect and affection for you, Oren.


One gnarled hand reached to lift one of the delicate things from its' nest, so very carefully, so very gently. She turned it in her hand, one finger tracing along a painted flower, that was a myriad of shades of blue and purple. I am not sure, but I think I saw a mist of tears in those old eyes.


She asked how I knew, and I mumbled something about being Ubar, and knowing many things. She actually laughed, and told me that we would have tea. Tea is not one of my preferred beverages, but there was no way that I was going to refuse. My shins were still safe at the moment and I had no intentions of tilting that balance in the wrong direction.


She stood from the platform, carefully carrying the Itth the cups in it and motioned to me to follow her to the fire. When I stood she told me to bring her staff. Bring her staff? Now this was hard for me. Touching that thing almost had a feeling of irreverence to me. It was like the Sky asking me to lift and carry the hem of her skirt. Just not something a mere mortal man was allowed to do. Was it a trick? Some sort of test? As I hesitated, that woman never even turned her head. She has those magic eyes in the back of it, and told me to stop dawdling. Dawdling? I am Ubar of the Tuchuk, I don't dawdle.


Much.

We are Tuchuk. And Our Strength Comes from That.

I had returned to help at the pyre wagons, stacking bodies. I hated it. To me, each burned body was a failure on my part. Maybe someday, I will get over that, but right now, I feel responsible for each and everyone of them.


I finally set down with my commanders, and we talked of what needed to be done. Part of me wanted to stay right here until every soul was put to rest, until every ounce of goods was salvaged, but I knew we could not do that. Already the ash was blowing into the stream, polluting our one source of clean water. There was no grass for the bosk, the game had all run off in face of the fire, and we could not stay. There were those that argued for sending the herd on ahead to the new grasses, leaving the wagons here. That was not an option. I had no intentions of splitting the tribe up like that. It just was not wise, nor was it feasible.


Over the next two days time, we would salvage what we could, have pyres for our dead, then we would move. I charged one of my commanders of an Orlu, to stay behind and salvage what they could. But only for one more hand. Only one hand, no more.


The meeting had just broke up when one of my men approached me with an outrider in tow. The man was part of Trilok's company, and when he said that, I felt my stomach knot up. I had him brought food and water, and bid him to sit and tell me his news. It was as I had thought.


They had been returning from their hunt and were caught on the other side of the fire, where they took a stand to fight it from there. One of them fell, thrown from his kaiila and Trilok rode into the conflagration to save his man, lifting him up to put him on his own beast, then slapping the flanks so that it would carry the man to safety beyond the fire line. He was trying to run back, where there was a flame up, and he perished in the blaze. He died sacrificing his own life and safety for another. A most honorable death.


For some reason, this hit me harder than some. He was a good man, a likeable man, and his death affected two women that I had a great deal of respect for. Noya, his mate, and Cana, his aunt. I do not even have the words, for how heavily this lay on my heart, when I went to seek these two out.


I found Noya at the stream with her children, and I think she knew the moment that I approached her, the news I had. There was no way to soften the blow, to make it less painful. There was nothing that I could do, but to draw her away from the others and tell her honestly how her man had died.


This woman is an elder, and no stranger to loss and the harshness of our life. But, everyone has that point where they break, even if it is just a little. I held her, and promised that she and her children would want for nothing, as long as I sat the grays. It was a promise that I committed myself to, and I think she knows that. Her eldest son, from her first mating, arrived and I stepped away to speak to him, to tell him what had happened. I do not know him well, but I cannot help but be proud of how he stepped in to comfort his mother and his younger siblings. A good man, an honorable young man.


There were those at the stream that tried to get me to stay but I didn't have the time. My duties were not over, I still has one more to tell, before I could even think about rest and food. As I approached the wagons that belong to the woman that was once mated to my brother, the woman that I still consider Ubara, my heart was heavy once more. How much more loss could she handle, where exactly was her breaking point? I think she knew too as soon as I stepped into the circle of light. I sat with her, told her what I knew in as few words as I could. The old warrior was there, and he pulled her into his arms to let her cry. I can't help but wonder how many times he has just, been there.


When she calmed, she asked if I had told Ephrim and Anya yet? Who the hell are Ephrim and Anya? When I realized she spoke of Trilok's parents, I know that I gave a heavy sigh. No, I had not told them. She offered to do it. I refused, it was my task. Finally we came to an agreement. I would tell them, but she would go with me to do it. Another long walk to be taken.


I was thankful for Cana. They knew, just like everyone else knows, but she took the woman aside, so that I could talk to the father, Ephrim, man to man. I told him of what I knew, he thanked me, then went to get his woman, to tell her what he now knew.


Other's began to arrive at the fire, and you could tell the ones that were Cana's brothers. They all share a certain look, a certain way of carrying themselves. I introduced myself to them, told them why I was there, and from the corner of my eye watched Cana with the other women, preparing food. I think they do that as a form of comfort to themselves. It is a woman thing, I guess. If you are upset you eat, or make sure others eat.


I tried to leave, but was drawn back, and told I needed to rest and share a meal with them. How can you refuse? There was Cana with a plate, and I began to eat, realizing how hungry I really was. They all began to talk about Trilok, how he was as a boy, things he had done. There was just this love and laughter thing with them, that made me want to watch, to see how they bonded as a family.


I got a lot of insight into Cana that night. I know her parents are both gone, but seeing the rest of her family, I can understand where she gets her strength, her empathy and her compassion. It is a family trait among these wagons she came from. And strength. It almost radiated from these people, and sitting there it hit me, that it is this strength and bonds among family units that will help us get through this horror, and to move on. It is this bond of family that keeps this tribe strong.


The night was an education for me, a lesson learned that I will not soon forget. And in a way, it gave me strength to get up and continue what I knew had to be down.


As I was leaving, the woman Anya came to me, wrapped her arms around me and spoke to me. She thanked me. Thanked me for taking my time to come tell them, and for not just sending word. She thanked me for being who I am and told me that I am a good man. Well damn! I was not ready for that. With all that I have had on my mind, it struck a cord in me somewhere deep inside and I had to leave. I had to leave quickly.


But as I walked away, I was overcome by this sense of awe and pride in the people that I call my tribe, at their strengths, and how they come together in times of trial like this. And with this knowledge, I was able to sleep that night. I was able to be a peace for a few ahn. My people would do fine, whether I was there for them or not, and that gave me a reassurance, and took some of the guilt.

Losses.

In the aftermath of the fire, there was confusion, but it was to be expected. My duty was to make some sort of order from the chaos. People still looked for family members, living on the hope that they were safe, but carrying around the knowledge in their hearts, that they weren't.


Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, br0thers and sisters, all searching for someone that was lost to them. At one point I saw a woman, grabbing onto every child of a certain size that she came across, turning them around to see if they were who she sought. It was gut wrenching, because often the child held hope in their eyes, this this person was the one they were looking for. I can't help it, inside I cry for them, all of them, because every loss, is my loss.


We are gathering the remains of any that we find, putting them all together in on place, to make it easier eventually, when people give up hope for finding family alive, they can come and maybe find them among the dead and have at least a bit of closure. It was later in the day, when I was helping to carry three bodies in, that had actually been burned to the point, that skin, tissue and bone had melded together. A gristly sight, when I saw the woman again. She sat by one of the pyre wagons, holding a small boy of about the age of Also in her arms, rocking him back and forth, completely unaware of the flesh that was sloughing off of that poor little body, singing to him. I crouched down beside her and began to talk to her, and eventually the story unfolded.


Her name is Alma and mate has been dead for many years, her eldest son she lost to the larl attack last season, and all she had left was her youngest son, his mate and the small boy she cradled in her arms. The son and his mate had been found early in the day, both dead, and she had been looking for the grandson all day. I will admit it, it touched me. Here she was, alone on the world, having nothing. Her family all gone, her wagons lost, all the tools of her trade gone. I was finally able to get her to relinquish the body of the child, and to follow me.


Honestly, I was not entirely sure of the reception that I was going to get from Oren, but at the moment, I needed her. Alma needed her. It did not surprise me to see that there were other refugees there, that is just how Oren is. For all of her quirks, she is the most generous woman that I know. And I did not give a thought as to whether she was angry with me about the situation with Mezoo. All I knew is that Alma needed someone closer to her own age, that had suffered loss, and that would be Oren.


I settled Alma by the fire, then went in search of the woman. I guess it surprised me, when I did not get a crack to the shins from that staff, but instead she lifted her gnarled hand, lay it on my cheek and told me that I needed to wash my face, and get something to eat. At that moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I was not going to press my luck. I told her about Alma, how lost she was, and how she needed someone right now, and that I had more work to do. I promised that once we were settled, I would take the woman into my circle of wagons and be responsible for her, but that right now, I needed for someone to watch over her for me.


Well, the old harridan asked me if I was going to mate the woman. After that initial shock, and I realized this was Oren teasing, I just grinned and told her that the only woman for me would be Oren herself. I swear, she blushed. Patting me on the arm, she told me to go do tend to my duties, and she would keep the woman safe for me. At this point, I did lean and place a kiss to her temple, thanked her, and walked away.


Knowing, that there were people like Oren and Astar among the tribe, uplifted me somewhat. We would survive, because of people like them. Little did I know, that I was soon to meet others, that would restore my faith.

Thoughts in the still of the night.

I am tired. I can't ever remember being this tired. And it is not just the weariness of the body, but more than that. To see so much death and destruction makes me want to curl up for a time in hopes that it will just go away, even if I know it won't.


And the assurance and support of others have helped me to keep going, but I still can't help but shoulder a burden. Should I have moved us earlier? Even a day may have made a difference. I was waiting on the scouting reports about better grass, and maybe I waited too long. Maybe I should have had everyone packed up and ready sooner, so that when the reports came, we could have gotten on the move instantly. Would it have been different had we not tarried that one extra day? I will never know, all I can do, is carry this responsibility, but carry it in a way that it does not impede me in my future decisions for the tribe.


When I lay down to try and get some rest, I feel as if there is a bosk bull sitting on my chest robbing me of the deep breaths that I need. I am haunted by that night and all that happened. It is if I wish there were more of me, or that somehow I could split what there is to be in more places at the same time.


I was fighting along the fire line, helping with the trenches when I saw Tarra with Mezoo unconscious across her saddle jump the trench and head towards the healers wagons. At that moment, I wanted to abandon my post, to follow, to make sure she was alive. But I did not. I stay where I was until I was no longer needed there. Only then, did I ride towards the safety of the wagons, to see how she was.


It was such a blow to me to see her laying there, covered with soot and ash and unconscious. Thankfully the healer did not send me away, and allowed me to draw closer to sit beside her. Holding that delicate hand in mine, I was glad there was no one there to see me, and the tears that fell. She looked so small, so delicate, that it actually made me hurt to know that she had been in harms way.


And then there was the guilt. Our last conversation had not been pleasant. I think we both struggle to find the balance that we need to go forward with our lives. The frustration of not having the time to spend together was the third party to that conversation. And with us both being stubborn, and being Tuchuk it was hard for either of us to yield. I had hoped she would understand where I was. I had always had this thought in the back of my mind, that Ba'tar would return and we would be able to start our life together. I still had that hope, but I sensed something in her, that I had never seen before. A reticence to continue this journey with me. I will admit, it hurt. And at the time, I thought that maybe both of us needed some space to cool down and to think. I guess I was wrong.


I love Mezoo. I love her gentle nature, her smile, her laugh, her sense of humor, her compassion. All of those things I love. I had given up all hope that I would ever meet a woman that would be able to touch that part of me that I thought was dead, but she did. And she did not do it by any supreme effort, she did it by simply being who she is, and by making the effort to learn who I was. I love her for that.


When I saw her at the stream tonight, I sensed a difference in her, a distance, a coolness. I can say here, that it hurt me more than any of the wounds my body has ever absorbed. We had to talk. There was this part of me that did not want to, but there was the other part that knew it was necessary.


I have watched that beautiful face for so long, that it can't really hold secrets from me. But, for some reason, I think she has gotten the idea, that I don't love her, and nothing is further from the truth. I love her so much that it is a pain to me that I can't spend the time with her that I want, and I know she still loves me, it is there in her eyes. But there is something else there. I can almost see that she is searching for something that I cannot give her. It is not because I do not want to, but because right now, I just can't.


My father is a wise man. He once told me that if you have a treasure that your hold to be most precious, that the time may come that you will need to release it. To allow it to grow into what it is meant to be. If the love you have for it, and that it has for you, is true, then it will return to you, more beautiful than ever. If it does not return, then it was never meant to be.


I realized in talking with Mezoo, that this seeking that she had to do, would have to be in a direction that I could not walk. We have made promises to each other, and if I were the man that I was at one time, I might hold her to these promises, but I am a different man now, partly due to her. I will release her from these promises, to go her way, to find that thing she seeks.


I think the hardest thing that I have ever done, is to carry her back to Oren's wagons, set her on the platform then to walk away. The pain in my chest was so overwhelming, that I could not breathe.


And so I find myself here, alone and in the dark, with tears falling, and my heart aching for the loss of my precious Little Spex. I hope she finds that thing that will give her happiness, that person, that calling. As for me? I will always love her, but right now, I have found the strength to let her go, to let her find what she needs.


Fly my Little Spex. Soar and find your hearts desire.

What to do now?

When I tried to open my eyes the glare from the Central Fire stabbed through my head like sharpened quiva making me moan and turn over. Keeping my eyes closed tightly I realized that those small tickles that seemed to find my nose of interest were blades of grass. Batting them away I finally set up, drawing my knees up to rest my arms on, dropping my head on to them. Damn! Was that reek of soured paga coming from me?


Cracking one eye open I see the pile of empty paga skins. Not just the two that I had hauled out here myself, but a pile of many more. A hand moves to rub the back of my neck as fuzzy memories begin to come of others coming out to join him, to pay homage to the fallen. That's what you do for heroes, right? You drink to them and tell stories of their exploits. From the way I feel, and the empty botas laying around, we had given Ba'atar a fine warriors send off.


Sitting there for a long time, I was almost afraid to move and disturb my head that was pounding, not to mention my stomach that was turning over at the paga smells. An absolutely overwhelming need for water is what finally drew me up and made me face the day. Stumbling tomy feet, I turn around to look for Lestat. Spying the beast, I whistle. The black beast trots up, and I swear the damnable animal sniffed in disapproval. Screw him!


Mounting, we rode in the general direction of the stream and once there, I tumbled from the saddle and lay on my belly on the bank, scooping cool water up with my cupped hand to drink. Occasionally I would turn and spit the water out onto the bank to try and rid myself of that foul aftertaste and to maybe wash that fuzz that seemed to be growing on my tongue away.


Sitting up, I tugged off my boots, then lay back and unlaced the leathers and squirmed out of them, kicking them to the side. Standing, I was unsteady as I walked into the waters and with absolutely no thought to grace or dignity, simply plopped down in them, allowing them to wash around me. It took awhile for the paga induced clouds begin to clear. Looking along the bank of the stream I see what I need, and basically crawl over to it. Pulling the soap root up, I take it back out into the deeper waters and scrub from head to toe. It makes me feel more human, being clean.


Stumbling out of the water, I found Lestat and took a half-empty water bota down to the stream to fill it. Sitting there on the grassy bank, I drank and thought. The pain of losing my brother was physical, something needling away at me, but I needed to move away from it right now.


Damnit, I have never given thoughts to being Ubar on a permanent basis. There was always some sort of comfort in knowing that Ba'atar would return, take back his rightful place, then I would move on with my life. In fact, I have even promised this to Mezoo. We would not mate until after Ba'atar returned, and we could start off our life together as simply the scarrer and the spex.


Well, hell. You lied, bosk ass.


I could step down, but that was not an option. That would be too much like a failure and I have had enough of that to last for awhile. Besides, I think I do a good job for the most part, and my decisions are right for the people. So no, stepping down is not an option. Right now, the people need someone to help lead them through a difficult time. That is my duty right now, and I will not shirk it.


Taking another drink, I allowed the bota to dangle between my hands that rested on my knees. Staring at the stream I caught the movement of a leaf as it floated in the water. There was this dipping, whirling, almost fascinating on how it traveled at the whims of the waves. I began to wonder, if we are not like that leaf, simply floating along the stream of life at the whim of something higher. Some capricious power that found amusement in our struggles, maybe even some sort of rancor in our joys and successes.


One who finds some sort of perverse amusement in taking a life at the pentacle of it's success, just because it can. In the past, I have never given much thought to what happens when a life is lost. I mean, I have seen what happens to those left behind, I have even seen that with the loss of three younger brothers. I have known that pain and what it does to a family. My mother grieved then, but not to the extent I think she will now.


Hopefully, when Mother has her time to accept this, I will be able to step in, take my place as eldest son. I still have younger brothers that need guidance, and I want to be there for them. I also want to be there for my parents, now that they are growing older. Our life is difficult, but I am in a position to make it easier for them, and I hope that I am allowed to.


But at that moment, I knew there were things to be done, people to speak to, problems to solve. Dressing, I took the reins of the kaiila and walked back towards camp. I turned him over to a handler, then walked in the direction of Cana's wagons. This was not something I wanted to do. What do I say, how do I make things right. That is my duty as Ubar, right? To make things right.


I am about to fail in that duty, miserably.

My Brother

The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows when
But I'm strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain't heavy, he's my brother.

So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He would not encumber me.

If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's hear
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another.

It's a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we're on the way to there
Why not share
And the load
Doesn't weigh me down at all
He ain't heavy, he's my brother.

He's my brother
He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
(Rufus Wainwright)

When the word came, I just sat there. I think I had known for a long time that my brother was not returning, but I just didn't want to speak of if. Some would not know how close we really were. We had our moments when we fought, when we disagreed, but we were brothers and we were close. It was a strong bond, tested by time and the trials of brotherhood.


I had began to feel that bond fading. I had felt him fading. Do I feel guilty. Skies yes! Guilty that I was not there to fight by his side, to die with him. Guilty that I had lost faith in him coming back. Guilty that I still live, and he does not. I think that is how it is with brothers.


I sat for a long time with my memories. Memories of us as children, memories of the fights, and the times that we stood side by side, to fight others. Black eyes, bloodied noses, broken bones, we shared them all. There is this thing with some brothers. It is okay for me to pick on him, or for him to pick on me.......but, you let someone else try it, then they have to fight us both. That is just how it is with brothers.


I have spent all of my life, just a half a step behind him. He earned his name, I earned mine about a moon later. He earned his first scar, I was not far behind him. I think that is one of the reasons I took a mate first. I wanted to be the first to do something. In hindsight, I should have let him lead there too.


I loved my brother, and no one can really know how much I will miss the arrogant, bosk arse. He could charm gold out of Turians teeth, when he wanted, then turn around and make them so angry they wanted to kill. That is just how he was. I will miss him.


I knew there was one thing that I needed to do before the gossip got around camp. I needed to be the one to tell our parents, before anyone else could. It was not something that I looked forward to.


When I arrived at their wagons, I think our mother knew the moment that she saw me. To say that she was livid and inconsolable would be an understatement. And I thought I was ready for the guilt and recriminations, because it was him, and not me. But I am not sure you can ever be ready for that. It has never been a secret that Ba'atar was the first son, and the favorite of our mother. The rest of us grew accustomed to that long ago. And I know that because of some of the things in my past, she doesn't care for me much. She loves me. She is my mother, but I don't think she likes me much.


As for our Father. He knew how I was feeling, and the loss that weighed so heavy on me. And he know, that if I could have, I would have taken Ba'atar's place within the blink of one eye. It has been a long time since my father embraced me as he did that night. He knew that I needed it, and maybe he needed it too. Releasing me, he cuffed me on the cheek and told me to go tend to my people, that he would calm Mother. He is a good man, and I do not envy him, and what he has to deal with right now. Maybe someday, she will look at me in a different light, but it will not be tonight. Tonight is her night to grieve for her First Son.


And, I could already feel it. Tonight was going to be a paga night. I took a couple of botas, rode out past the herds and got down off of Lestat and dropped to the ground cross-legged. I drank to my brother, I drank to his companions, I drank to their lives and to our loss.


And then I sang. I sang a song for Ba'atar. A song for my brother.

Wards of the State....Sorta.

It has not been all that long ago, that I was basically living the life of a hermit in my wagons, on the edge of camp. Back then, I told myself I was content, and I think I was. I had built this shell around me, this persona meant to keep people at a distance. I hunted, took care of my needs, shared the bounty of my hunts with others, secretly. An occasional warrior would come to me for a scar he had earned. Usually one that I had the honor of scarring before. A repeat customer.


Occasionally I would venture to the wagons of my family for a visit, to try and keep the connection. I still think family connections are important, even though I had basically lapsed in mine. And these visits were where I learned the gossip of camp. People will tell you that women are the worst gossips. I will disagree with them. My brothers are no slouches. They kept me caught up on things that were going on in camp.


Those days are long gone. Ba'atar came to me, needing someone he trusted at the fires with him, now that he was Ubar. You do not deny your brother, that is all that there is to it. I came, but I still tried to keep myself separate, at that time, not wanting to be involved any further than what was needed by my brother, my Ubar.


All of that has changed. I am now Ubar, not by choice, or by challenge, but by request of my brother. I am doing my best to do what is right for my people, and I will admit, it is not an easy task, but I am muddling through.


One of the responsibilities that I have is for women. I am the guardian to women, imagine that. What were not all that long ago, my least favorite people, are now my wards. The Sky definitely has a sense of humor.


I imagine right now, Seveya is not real happy with me, and eventually I will have to deal with that. Besides Seveya, there is Asria. Asria, the year keeper that is not a year keeper.


I inherited Asria from Fonce. What happened between them, I don't know, and I haven't asked. All I know is that the woman is under my care. Not only her, but two small children. Recently, she approached me and told me that she wanted to change clans. This is not something that happens often, but I got the impression that she never really chose her first clan, and that made it a little different.


She wants to be a singer. Believe it or not, she has come to the right person. One of the best Singers that I know just happens to be my father, Aamon. He is not only an excellent singer, he is a patient teacher. I know that first hand, because he was very patient with me, right up until the point I finally put us both out of our misery, dug in my heels and said I was NOT, going to be a Singer.


He will be good for Asria. I am thinking that she needs someone to work with her, that did not know her late man, Trayu. That has no pre-conceived ideas about who she is and who she should be. My father, will treat Asria, as Asria, fledgling singer. It will be interesting to see how this progresses.


My main ward is Cana, the mate of my brother. For the most part, she is no problems. She knows who she is, she is self-reliant, a woman with direction. Not a complainer, and asks for very little. Even her children are no more problems than most children are. They are spirited, but also disciplined, and well behaved, considering their ages. And the girls, are special to me. Even as young as they are, I find them beautiful, and can see in the future, how they will grow even more so. And I don't give a damn what they say, these girls will be no problem.


Recently, I do have a problem with Cana. Not one that she has really brought on by actions, or deed. She doesn't talk to me much, and I get a lot of what I know from others. Ergo, Mezoo. I know that Cana is having trouble sleeping. I can understand this. She is a woman whose man has been gone for over a year now, without a word. What woman would not be having trouble sleeping, under those circumstances?


But, from what I am being told, she is having nightmares. I don't dream, so I don't know anything about this. All I know is that she is losing weight, and when she smiles, it does not extend to her eyes. It is almost as if she thinks it is her duty to smile. Her clan work has not suffered, she still manages to take care of her children, but there is just something off about her. I have a great deal of respect for her, and because of that, I am worried.


And besides, if anything happens to her, Ba'atar will kill me when he returns. But there is definitely something amiss, something terribly wrong.