Chapter 3: In which our Hero herds verr, tries to dodge the staff, and hopefully makes a friend.

I was there early the next morning, in fact, I had hoped to beat Oren up, but no such luck. When I rode past her wagon on my way to their herd, she was up puttering around the fire. I nodded then went on to tend to the bosk. I could feel her eyes on my back, but I did not turn my head to look. Was that a cackle of laugher that I heard behind me? I can't be sure, but I did hear her pounding on the side of a wagon, and speaking in a manner that would brook no foolishness.


"Pacu, Pacu, get up! That Ayguili is here to help you with the bosk!"


I had not come unprepared. I had brought along reinforcements. Two outriders, my girls odd and kasra, along with a couple of camp slaves to help. The riders and I moved the small herd to a nice, lush patch of grass, then the girls set to work to brush and oil their coats, and to polish their horns. As is our custom, the shaggy coats of the bosk were brushed and the hair that came from that brushing was put into bags and kept for later use. During the cold months it is used for insulation in wagons, women stitch it between pieces of woven cloth to make warmer blankets for sleeping furs, warriors tuck it into their boots to keep their legs warmer. Nothing from the bosk went unused, even their hair.


I was pretty damned pleased at how things were going when Oren appeared out of no where, thwaped me on the leg and told me that I could not herd verr from a kaiila. I actually groaned at the herding the verr part, but dropped down from the saddles to follow her like a scolded, dweller school boy.


I understand the necessity of the ver. Their milk is used for drinking, making butter and cheese. There are those that even eat the meat, and the value of their wool coats is known to everyone. There is an entire clan that revolves around the verr, their wool, and weaving. Now, with all of this said, that does not mean I have to like the wooly demons.


Any out rider will probably side with me. There has ben an almost internal feud going on since the beginning of time about the bosk and the verr. Everyone reveres the bosk, care for them, honor them to honor the sky. And most of them do not like verr. The main reason is the difference in grazing patterns.


The bosk are huge, lumbering, hump backed creatures and it is a long distance between their heads and the ground. Therefore, they crop mostly on the tops of the grass, as they cannot reach those lower, tender shoots. However, the verr, being closer to the ground, tend to eat the grass right down even with the dirt. Sometimes they even pull it up by the roots. This is where the problem comes in. If you graze the verr first, there is nothing for the bosk to eat. It is always imperative to graze the bosk first, then to bring the verr in behind them to graze on the lower stems and shoots of grass. Try convincing a verr herder of this.


Also, as Oren said, you do not herd verr from a kailla. You try to keep the ornery little bastards in a group by chasing them on foot. Or you do if you are a big footed warrior, who has exactly zero experiences with them. It took me over half a day, to realize that the old woman was poking the occasional verr in the ass with her stick, to make if break from the herd, so that I would have to chase it down and bring it back. You see, very like to remain all bunched up together, finding safety and happiness in numbers. Or they do, unless someone pokes them with a stick, which startles the little beast and makes it suddenly want to jump over the backs of the brethren, and run.


And if you do not catch them quickly enough, somehow that woman was either right beside you, or behind you, hitting you with that damn staff. There was more than once when I was tempted to grab the thing from her and break it in two over my knee. There is a fallacy in this logic. If you do this, then she would have two sticks to torment you with. So, I took my punishment in stride. This has to be some sort of punishment, right?


You might ask what my first clue was that something was amiss? That damn cackling laugh from her, then the snickers from that damn young whelp. Was I being tested, maybe? Either that, or I was being had. Either way, you would not see me giving up, that is just not in my character. Rivulets of sweat poured off of me as I chased the damn little beast around. Finally the old woman took pity on my maybe, and called me over to get some water from her bota.


Suddenly the verr did not seem so intent on escaping, maybe it was because that damn stick was not up their asses. But the woman decided that we needed to talk. We talked through most of the afternoon, mostly about my family. She made me recite all of the names for several generations, that I could remember. I noticed that she would nod occasionally, or that wizened brow would arch at the mention of a name, but she would say nothing.


Now, she had an opinion or two about my mother. Imagine that? In Oren's opinion, Mother is overbearing. Ahh, what did she just say? Is that not the pot calling the kettle a bota, or something like that? But she was magnanimous, and said she would not hold my mother against me. Big of her, huh?


We finally got to the subject that all of this had been leading up to. Mezoo. Again, I felt like some unscarred, wet behind the ears young boy as I tried to explain to this imposing woman, what I had on my mind. I want to get to know her better, I will never do anything to dishonor her, or harm her. I had not idea exactly where this would lead, but I also promised that I would not do anything to interfere with her clan and her studies, because I knew how important that was to her. And Fonce would probably thrash me in the offing.


To say that the woman did not mince words, would be another of those understatements, that I have mentioned before. She let me know that if I harmed the young spex, physically, emotionally or mentally, that I was not prepared for the wrath that would be rained down on me. Why did this not surprise me?


I am not totally sure, but I think that Oren and I came to a sort of understanding that day among the verr. I would be allowed to spend time with Mezoo, to see where it would all go. I tried to keep my dignity when I walked to my kaiila to mount. All of the sudden, I decided that riding was not what I wanted to do. Did it have anything to do with how sore my body was from wrestling verr all day. Hell yeah!


But the walk back to my wagons was satisfying, in an odd way. I think that the old woman likes me, or at least she is going to tolerate me.


I usually bathe in the stream, but after all of that, I needed something more, so I had the girls prepare me a tub of hot water to soak in. It helped the sore muscles some, but did little for the bruises from that stick, or the knot on the back of my head, or my sore jaw. Damn! The sacrifices that I made for one small, young spex.


I had to laugh. She is worth all of it, ten-fold.

Chapter 2: In which our hero gets beaned by an old woman, and sucker punched by a young whelp.

When the young spex paled and all the bones seemed to leave her body, I could think of nothing but getting her help. I swept her up into my arms and began to run through camp towards her family wagons, a multitude of things running around in my mind, but first and foremost, was that she be alright.



Arriving at that grouping of wagons, my first glance was to the one I knew as the mother, Astar. The immediate look of concern in her eyes for a moment made me feel like a sleen. I did not have a chance to try and explain, for the next person I saw was a woman that has to be as old as the plains themselves. There was no mistaking the fact that she was definitely in charge, and if you doubt it, look at the notches on her walking stick. I knew the woman by reputation mostly. She was Oren, pretty much the matriarch of the family.



She motioned me into a wagon and pointed to the dais of sleeping furs. I lay Mezoo on them, reaching my hand to stroke her temple, more worried now that I saw how still she was. I had intended to stay until someone worked some kind of magic and woke her up and made her perfect again. My thinking was wrong.



The crone began to hustle me out of the wagon, all the while I am trying to ask her if Mezoo will recover, trying to find out something about what was to be done. I had turned to look at the prone figure on the furs, when....THWAP! Did that old woman just bean me with a bowl? I heard a crack and was not all too sure if it was my skull or the bowl, but I was not given anytime to reflect on this, because the old woman was ushering me out the flaps of the wagon, aided by that damn stick!



Stumbling out onto the platform, my hand was rubbing the back of my head, when out of no where, a fist flew up and hit me in the jaw. I the Ubar of the Tuchuk, the most fierce and feared people of the plains, had just be sucker punched by a young warrior, whose dyes were still drying in his scars, not to mention the amount of mosture behind his damn ears.



I looked down at him, and the only thing that kept me from going after him, ripping his head clean off and feeding it to the sleens, was that he was at these wagons, so that meant he was probably family, so it would not be very good form of to kill him on this night. Another night maybe, but not this one. I could see him bouncing on his feet, fists lifted like he wanted me to attack. The boy is lucky that I was on my good behavior tonight, and he would remain unscathed.



What the hell was wrong with these people?



The only one that seemed to have any sense about her was the woman Astar. She even had the good manners to thank me for bringing Mezoo home. Now, I brought her home limp as a dead fish, but the woman thanked me. All I could do was not do her, because I was keeping an eye on that young whekp of a warrior. I still watched him as Astar told me that they would let me know how she was.


Let me know? Oh hell no!


I was going no where until I knew how she was, until I saw some color back in her cheeks with my own eyes. And again Astar showed great wisdom as she attempted to send the whelp to find the kaiila Mezoo had been riding. I had settled myself against the wheel of a wagon, prepared to wait.



The young warrior seemed reticent about leaving me with what he probably considered his women folk, but I was not budging. Finally the woman Oren came out wanting to know who or what an Ayguili was. I was immediately on my feel, telling her that I was Ayguili. Now, was that fear I saw flash through that young man's eyes? Did he just groan? Suddenly he was ver interesting in going to find that kaiila, just as his mother had suggested.



I approached the wagon, putting my foot to eh step intending to go inside, but it was not to be. There was that damn stick again. At first, she struck my shin with it, then placed it to block my way, damn it! She then proceeded to dress me down, telling me that I should have come around before now, and unfortunately, I had to agree. She made it very clear that she was an old woman, unaccustomed to having to repeat herself. I was then invited to share a meal with them. No, I lie. I was commanded to come share a meal with them. At that point, I would have agreed to anything that would have gotten me closer to Mezoo.



I could see her inside, sitting up, which relieved me greatly. She reached a hand to me, and I reached to her. Her fingers brushed my sleeve, and at that moment it was enough. She looked better, and the wan smile that she gave me, somehow assured me that there was nothing amiss. I longed to gather her in my arms, to tell her how sorry I was for any part I had played in her falling into a faint, but as I mentioned, there was that barrier of that damn stick in my way.



I have seen some dweller men, that take a notion to belt their slaves, fools that they are. I can tell them of another way, and that would be to find some old woman with a big stick to follow them around. It would work much better than any kind of belt you might use.



I was determined to stay until I was positive that Mezoo was fully recovered, and Oren was determined to send me away. I could have asserted myself more, called upon my position as leverage to stay, but I have this feeling that it would have mattered little to the old woman with the stick. So, out of respect for her, I did neither.



Loathe to go, I did step back and tried to regain at least a modicum of dignity, and told Oren and Astar that I had spoken to Fonce, who was Mezoo's guardian about spending time with her at the fires to talk and get better acquainted, and that my intentions were honorable, and I was now requesting permission from the two of them.


Pretty damn cheeky for a man that had just brought the young woman in question home passed the hell out, but I still stated my intentions.



Oren allowed that if I stood around much longer I would be having the morning meal with them, because it was growing late. I relented and told her that I would be back first thing in the morning to check on her.



"Good, then you can help with the bosk!"

Chapter 1: Our Hero confesses all and makes a woman faint.

I had just finished washing the dirt of the day off at the stream, and was struggling into a tunic, when I looked up to see a familiar figure riding down the stream, water being thrown up from the claws of the kaiila. I had raised my hand and called to her, then noticed that she spurred the beast faster, riding right down on me. Just before she got to me she had leaned forward and extended her arm. Grasping it, the momentum of the kaiila helped me to swing up into the saddle behind her. I said the first thing that came into my head. "Is this anyway to treat your Ubar?"


The laugh that came from her instantly lifted the stress of the day from my shoulders and put me into an infinitely better frame of mind. Reaching around her, I grasped the reins in my hand and took control of the beast, and maybe just a little more control of the ride. It has been a long time since I have even wrapped my arms around a woman like this. Sure, there are slaves to sate needs, but this was something more. She was warm and soft in all the right places, and if I slid a little bit more to the front of the saddle, to capture that body closer, then sue me. Everything about her assaulted my senses. The smell of her hair, the sound of her laugh, the way her body felt against my chest, and the look of her. The only thing I did not do was taste her. I was oh so close when I bent my head to speak into her ear. How easy it would have been to run my tongue around the shell of that ear, then down the slim column of her neck, but I refrained. Not yet, not just yet.


I am a warrior, not a poet, and the words to describe how beautiful she was simply fail me. And it is more than the beauty of her face that I talk about, it extends to the beauty of her spirit, her heart. Since I was holding the reins, she stretched her arms out and leaned her head back to feel the rush of the night air on her skin. At that moment, I felt my heart miss a beat or two because she was magnificent. In that moment, I finally found something that rivaled the beauty of the night sky, that put the moons and stars in perspective. In that moment, I felt an almost overwhelming need to know her better, to know everything about her.


And in that moment, I knew that before I even began to know more about her, I needed for her to know about me. I will not hide anything from her, or shadow it with words to make it prettier than what it was. She will get the truth, in all of it's ugliness, and if she can digest that, get her head around it, and still wants to spend time with me, then we can move on.


As I guided the kaiila out of the water, I knew that I needed to place a little distance between myself and her body that was so warm, alluring, and damn it, down right sensual. On the bank, I dropped from the saddle and helped her down, told her that we would walk. In an earlier conversation that we had, I had told her that there may come a time when I would tell her things that might change the way she saw me. Some men would have kept the secret buried, if they had been able, but I had told myself at one time, that if I ever found a woman that I seriously wanted to know, she would know the truth before things progressed too far. I felt it was only fair to Mezoo, to know this truth.


As we walked, I held that delicate hand in mine. It is odd, in a way, that it is so small, so seemingly fragile, but there is strength in it, just like I think there is strength in the woman. I did not try to pretty it up, or to make it less than what it had been. I did not hedge words, I simply told her a story of love, betrayal, jealousy, death and me. There was no other way to tell it, for me, but in simple, blunt terms.

Did she tell me that it was okay, that she understood, that she would help me get over it, that it didn't matter. No, that is probably what most women might have done, or rather the ones that had not ran from me as fast as their feet would have carried them.



No, she stopped us, and looked up with me with those unfathomable eyes, still holding my hand, still connected. It was she, that stepped closer, placing her hand on my chest and whispered, that the pain and guilt was not mine to carry, that it belonged to another in another place. Easy words to say, but not something that is easy to do when you have carried those things with you for ten year.


What happened that night by the stream, I will never understand. Just that simple gesture of touching me, and telling me that I no longer had to carry the burden, had a way of not only connecting the two of us, but gave me the courage to let it go. Leaning my head back, I looked at the stars, and I can say now, that I felt it leave me. For so long, I have lived with it like some sort of parasite that fed on my heart and soul, and had robbed me of what most would consider a normal life.


Did she take it from me upon herself, or did she take it only to release it into the Sky. I still do not know, and someday I will ask. All I know is that I felt freer than I have felt in many years.


Right up until the point she grew pale and fainted.

Of Stuff and Nonsense

My conversation with Mezoo had jogged a memory, which sent me in search of something in my wagons. I am a simple man with simple needs.


My personal wagon would probably be called spartan by some, but it suits me. It has a sleeping platform covered with warm furs, rugs on the floor to insulate my bare feet on mornings when I get up and the frigid outside air had seeped into the floor boards. I have a locked chest to hold my weapons, and another to hold clothing. Simple. It is all that I need.


I have found, that women are all the same in some respects, whether they are free or slave, and my slaves are no different. There is something in a woman that makes her want to fancy things up, to make them appealing or pretty. Even my girls are guilty of this. They had this habit of bringing things into my wagon, that......match. They can't quite understand that I do not want or need a tapestry that matches one of the rugs on the floor. Flowers belong on the plains in their natural home, not in some jar in my wagon. I believe that my hand across their cheeks has finally convinced them that my personal wagon is just fine like it is. It does not need to match.


Ok, this does not mean that I have nothing. Quite the contrary. I am a Tuchuk warrior, I raid, rape and pillage with the best of them, and over the years, I have accumulated a lot of......stuff. Stuff that I do not use, or need exactly, but that I do not part with because it can be of value to someone else, maybe, and can be traded for some stuff, that I do need. It is a simple concept. Or to me it is.


There is a downside to this accumulating of stuff. While my personal wagon, and the wagon I use in scarring are quite basic and organized, the wagons where I keep this stuff, are not. And it has gotten even worse since I have become Ubar because people keep leaving me gifts of....stuff on my platform, and I have one of the slaves take it to what I jokingly call..my storage wagons.


So that morning when I had the singular thought of purpose, to find that one small item, I was actually dismayed that it was not in the chest where I kept my clothes, nor in the one where the weapons were, which meant that I needed to go look through my stuff for it. The very idea of that is daunting in itself.


In the first one I began to open chests, peek in barrels and even slit open the tops of bags. Ah, there was that dagger I took off a dying Arian. Why was he dying, that is another story for another time. But it is of nice quality steel, blade and handle all cast as one piece and well balanced. The handle is wrapped in leather that is darkened by years of skin oils and sweat from the hands that have held it. I slipped it into my belt, I think I will add mine to the handle.


The next barrel was bolts and bolts of cloth like women like to make tunics with. I drug this to the platform. It will be sent to Cana, she is a woman, she sews so she will know what to do with it.


The next that I opened, when I pulled the straw away that was protecting the contents, proved to be a chest of toys for children. Small leather shields and wooden swords, even some leather greaves and bracers sized for a child. I amused myself with a wooden bowl on a stick, with a cork ball hanging from a tether trying to get the ball into the cup by swinging it. Now so easy as it looks.


There was a small box of warriors cast from some metal, all brightly painted with the ridiculous red tunics and tiny weapons in their hands. There seemed to be two factions, painted with different styles of tunics. I could see the value of using these to maybe teach the value of battles.

There were all manner of animals stitched from fur and stuffed with somethingm and with these shiny discs for eyes. Even a couple of larger dolls dressed in the robes of free women. I turned one of these over and just as I suspected, nothing of interest under those robes. Maybe Canas' girls would find them amusing when they were older.


There were also animals carved from wood. It is always amazing to me how dwellers waste something as precious as wood. Some of the animals had small wheels on them and cords that ran to a large wooden handle. It seemed they were meant to be pulled over the ground. Interesting. There was even a small wooden wagon with metal wheels and a long handle on it for pulling. I can almost see Also pulling his sisters around in it.


Amazingly enough there were also toys made from another metal. And if I am not mistaken this metal was silver. Out here on the plains, mothers often find dried gourds that have the seeds still in them. When you shake them, they make a noise that seems to fascinate babies. Some of these silver objects were like that, but when you shook them the sound they made was more musical. These would go to his nieces. They were the daughters of a Ubar, the nieces of a Ubar, why would they not deserve engraved silver rattles. It made perfect sense to me.


At the very bottom I found something that did puzzle me. It was a bundle wrapped in leather. Taking it out I sat down cross legged and untied the thongs that held it shut and folded back the leather. There was this thing I know is called a frame. Dwellers often used these wooden frames to put around portraits. I have seen this before. But there was no portrait in this one, only what appeared to be a smooth, flat stone. Odd.


There was a canister and when I took the lid off of it, there seemed to be these sticks of candy like I have seen in the cities in it. Taking one out I sniffed it, but did not get that aroma of mint that I had expected. In fact, it did not smell. Taking a bite off the tip, I immediately spit it out for it had no flavor. Stupid dwellers. It fell on the framed stone and when I reached to brush it off, something curious happened. It made a mark. Taking the small bit, I made other marks then rubbed them off with my fingers.


Another distant memory made its' was through my head. I remember these things from a city once. There were shops that sold goods and the merchants had bigger pieces of this same stone on stands and wrote the prices of their good with something someone told him was chalk. That is what this was. One of those boards and the canister held several new pieces of this chalk. Immediately, I thought of Also, and his penchant for drawing pictures on the ground with a stick.


Carefully I wrapped the bundle back up and tied the thongs. All of the toys were placed back in the chest with the bundle on top and shoved it over and between the flaps to the platform. Then resumed my hunt.


Two barrels of salt were found in one corner, a large bag of blackwine beans, Damn I could use a bowl of blackwine about now, various bags of herbs and spices, sugar and some dried fruit. All of this found its' way to the platform.


Opening the drawers on a standing chest I found other oddities. In one, there was an intricately carved box which contained those golden chains and what not that the Vaci were so fond of. But in there, I also found a few simpler pieces that caught my eye. This box was tucked into his tunic as he continued his search.


Finally, I found it, wrapped in a small square of cloth. Taking it out I held it up to the dim light that came through the smoke hold in the top of the wagon. It was a small disc of bronze, a perfect example of two metals that had been brought together each with a different property to it. One for strength, the other for pliability, then they had been shaped, the rough edges filed off, to make this simple object. This would be a gift for Mezoo. It would need to be cleaned in polished, but even in the dim light he could see how it would pick up the light and cast the gold and amber back towards her. A simple gift, but one that I thought would suit her.


I was still admiring the disc when I threw the flaps of the wagon open and stumbled over the....stuff, I had shoved out onto the platform. I turned to look over my shoulder and had to admit the wagon looked emptier, more organized. But that is because all the stuff was on the platform blocking my way!


Fortunately for me, and for him, a passing out rider asked if he could take some of the boxes and barrels somewhere for me. Bright lad, he did not mention that I was trapped behind all this stuff, he might earn a promotion for his discretion. Soon, he and one of comrades were carrying the chests, barrels and bags off to where I wanted them delivered.


Me? I was on my way to polish my gift, already thinking of the light it would bring to her eyes.

Branding

For the most part the branding went well. There were several of the women that came to help that had never branded before, and I tried to teach them how it was done. I am a firm believer in women knowing how to do such things. Think about it. A woman that has no mate should be able to do these things. I have a great deal of respect for those women that are independent enough to want to do things for themselves. I will admit to getting irritated at times with women that will not ask for help when they need it, but that does not mean I respect them any less.


I know that in many ways they are considered weaker than men, but trust me, in my way of thinking there is no such animal as a "helpless woman". There may be those that manipulate a little more to get men to do things for them in the guise of being helpless, but most are quite capable. Case in point, take women like Tarra, Noya and even Cana. Most of them would fight you to keep you from taking things from them that they are capable of doing. Trust me, I know this, I have tried. And all three of these women know who to go to for help. They will not stand around looking forlorn and helpless, they will find a way to get things repaired.


If your wagon cover needs repair, find a leather worker, if the metal bands on your wagon are worn, find an ironworker. Axle's need greasing, grease them yourself or get a slave to do it. My mother was that way. She considered the things around her wagons as falling under her domain, and Skies help you if you tried to take that away from her.


But I digress.


It is always good to see our people working together, it brings a flavor to the work being done. Yamka caught onto the branding really quickly. I will not worry about her not being able to take care of her herd as she accumulates it. And watching Cana is amazing, she just has this way of working that beast of hers' so that they make cutting the calves away from the herd look simple. I have some out riders that I want her to teach that to, including me. You could tell that Tarra and Kaeli were also adept at branding, and that this was not their first, and it is always good to have them around to help guide the younger ones. Asria did show up, and I would not expect her to participate in her condition, but I got the distinct impression that branding was not for her. Too dirty.


Mezoo even showed up, and brought her curiosity with her. I think the women in her family have tended mostly to their verr herds, and less to the bosk, so much of this was new to her. With Yamka's help, she even tried her hand at branding a few. With more practice, they will all be first rate branders.


Taking a break to share food and drink and conversation was even nice. And it gave us a chance to relax. I took Mezoo over to see where the iron workers were working on the branding irons. Sort of a I am man, I will show you how it is done thing, but it did not turn out that way. In that manner of hers, she began to ask questions. Clear cut questions. Those questions that always surprise and interest me when they come from her.


We talked about metals, the ones that were stronger, the ones that were more pliable and how when you mixed them you had something strong, yet flexible. What made me say what I did, I have no idea. But, I shared with her my view that people were like metal in some ways. You took something strong, mixed it with something more malleable, honed off the rough edges, and you were left with something much more interesting. At first there was puzzlement in the look she gave me, but I stood there and watched it in her eyes. The growth of a new idea, from that small seed that I planted. That, is what attracts me to Mezoo.


We did not get to finish our conversation, as there was a commotion near the branding fires that I needed to tend to. It seems that Yamka had been kicked by one of the calves. Kicked badly enough to have broken a rib? Or so Kaeli diagnosed. I will have to keep an eye on that particular little calf. Seems he is stronger than most.