A Code? If it looks like bosk shit, and smells like bosk shit, it is probably........

Whatever you give a woman, she will make greater.
If you give her sperm, she'll give you a baby.
If you give her a wagon, she will give you a home.
If you give her food, she will give you a meal.
If you give her a smile, she'll give you her heart.
She multiplies and enlarges whatever is given to her.

So, if you give her any crap, be ready to receive a ton
Of bosk shit.

The Clan

I keep getting side tracked by my memories.


Just like every other clan, we have extended ourselves beyond what we thought possible, then some. There are those that were responsible for the fence. As I said earlier, we lost post so the pens are not as big as they were, but by the grace of the Sky we did not lose that many animals to death in the fire. So we have a dilemma of how to pen all the animals with less materials. At one time, the fence had four rails between the post, but now it will only have two of wood and the middle one of rope. And some of the animals will be put in a ramuda, kept together by riders. It is just how things are going to have to be for now.


We do have injuries that need to be tended to. Pads of feet that were scorched, coats and manes that fell victim to sparks and ash, pulled muscles and tendons from the run to safety, and mares that are not doing quite so well. All of these things have to be taken care of, because it will not be that long before we are looking at the trek to the Northern grasses. We need to start sharpening claws, trimming hair, looking for anything that might make an animal a liability rather than viable. People bring their mounts by daily, to be tended to, which results in us being very busy.


I am a realist and know that there are animals that will not be making the trip with us. There are a few that we will put down, sadly enough, but there will be those that we will simply leave behind. But anyone that knows me, knows that I will not leave a kaiila behind, that I think there is any hope of prolonging their life. If an animal has served its' rider with the loyalty that kaiila do, they deserve every consideration.


And each day, we have patrols of kaiila clan members, back tracking and trying to round up strays and bring them back into the fold, just as I know there are outriders looking for stray bosk. It is no different for us. And each day they come back with fewer and fewer beast, which tells me, we have pretty much recovered all that we will.


Now comes the task of replacing kaiila for those that have lost them. Ash lost his beast, so I have been looking at my war kaiila, choosing one that I think will fit him. It is a large, black beast by the name of Sandine. He is strong, loyal and I have been looking for just the right warrior that would have the hand to handle him, and I think that might be Ash.


I have also had as many roans that I am not familiar with, cut from the others for Silken to look at, so she can see if one of them might be the kaiila that Tengfei gave her.


And then there are the foals. I think that is one of the rewards of my job, seeing the younger ones' choose their first mount, or choosing them for them. I have already picked out two fine little beasts for my girls, and two more for Chabi and Himself. I can't wait to show them. To me, it is just such a special thing, getting your first kaiila. Call me sentimental.

Just an Old Fence Post

I digress.

The night of the fire, we were able to get the fence down around the pens and salvage most of it. Wood is so precious here, that these fence posts have traveled many a pasang with us, and hopefully for many more. There is one in particular that I keep my eye on.


In my memory, I cannot think of a time when I was not fascinated by the kaiila. That they didn't call to me in a way. Some of my haziest first memories are following my Father around the pens like a little shadow. I have this one memory that is so fixed in my mind, that when I think of it I not only see it but I smell it, I hear it as if it were happening right now.


I could not have been more than about four or five. Father had set me on the bottom rail of the fence and told me not to move. Who tells a child that young not to move? I think had he stayed within my line of vision what happened next, might not have taken place. But, when he disappeared among the herd, hidden from me, I moved. I was not afraid because I could not see him, I was irritated! He was doing something that had to be fascinating and wonderful, but I was not able to see it! Off of that rail I came and went to look for him.


Did I trip over my own feet, did I slip in kailla dung and fall, or did the Sky nudge me as punishment, or maybe to my future? I have no idea. All I know is that I fell, rolled and tumbled and finally gained my feet again, dirty, covered with mud and dung and lost in a forest of legs. Until that moment, I had never seen them from quite that vantage point. It was much different than being carried through the herd on my Father's shoulders or hip, or seeing them from that special spot that I had on his saddle.


I can still remember that very first taste of fear. Fear taste metallic, it makes those glands that lay beside your tongue, right by your jawbone, tingle and burn and a bitterness to coat the tongue, then slide down your throat, only to be met somewhere by the bile that is rising from your stomach that has dropped off into infinity. If you can manage to swallow, then your body tenses and you can feel every hair tingle and call your name as if it is the only one, demanding your attention and your skin crawls, freezes then a flush runs across it and you are on fire. And, all of this happens within the blink of an eye. Or the beat of a heart, that is fluttering like the wings of a baby herlit.


I had that first taste of fear and I remember opening my mouth to scream, then something happened. One of the beast dipped its' massive head down towards me, nostrils flaring, the tri-lidded eyes staring at me, I think trying to figure out just exactly what I was, and if I was its' next meal, then it snorted and nudged my tiny chest. Not hard enough to make me fall, just enough to make contact. I can still see that small hand attached to the end of my arm moving to reach out and stroke the long face, feeling the velvety softness of the hair, the firmness of the bone beneath it, and feel and smell the hot breath on it, that made this sort of calm come over me and the fear was only a memory. That is the defining moment in my life where I knew where my work would be, that I knew there was some sort of connection between me and these regal beasts. And that feeling has never left me, and I hope it never does.


The next thing I knew, my Father was pushing the animals away and scooped me up into his arms, and I am pretty sure he had that taste of fear in his mouth, because I think the look in his eyes told me that. After realizing that I was not harmed, and that I wasn’t afraid, I think it was a flash of anger that flared in his gaze, maybe at himself for leaving me alone, or at me for moving off that rail, but it was only brief. When he asked what I was doing, I told him quite simply that I was talking to the kaiila. Most men would have laughed at someone as small as I was, making such a statement, but my Father didn't. The next thing I remember in his eyes, I did not understand at the time, but I know what it was now, upon hindsight. It was pride, and a knowing of sorts.


He took me to where they were dismantling the fence for the move and sat me up inside the wagon where they were being stacked and tied down. Pulling out his quiva, he calmly talked to me about the kaiila, as he carved a picture into the post. A fairly good likeness of me. He then told me that was my post, and that every time the fence was taken down, it would be my duty to make sure it was pulled from the ground and loaded, and that every time we set up the pens, it would again be my duty to see that it was unloaded and to remember where it was in the long line of fence.


Maybe it is instinct, maybe I saw exactly what wagon they put that post in, all I know, is that today when we were putting the fence up for the pens, I knew exactly where my post was at. I helped to unload it, I set it into the hole that had been dug for it and held it upright as the mud was packed into the hole to stabilize it. My fingers caressed over that carved image that seems to fade over time, but it is still there.


I look down the line of fence and realize that I am like this post. Just as it stands with other posts to make the fence stronger, I stand with others to make my people stronger, and quite honestly that is not a bad feeling.

The Haruspex of the Kaiila

The move to the better grass was difficult, due to the circumstances. I will commend Ayguili for having us ready, had he not done this I think our losses would be greater than what they were. I am fortunate that I was not injured and my losses were not as great as those of some others, but I was prepared.


Some might say that I am too independent, but that is simply how I am. It is a matter of pride with me, to be able to take care of myself and my children. That does not mean that I can do it all, that I do not have those that help. But it does mean, that I do not sit back and wait for others to take care of me, plain and simple. I engage. I am Tuchuk.


Even during the trek to new grass, the clan was busy. The night of the fire we had managed to get enough of the fence down to allow the kaiila to run free to save themselves. It is a natural instinct among them. They have this fiercely, strong sense of survival, and they are intelligent about it. From the moment a kaiila is born, it is on its' own. The mother does not nurse the young, they give birth and walk away. Some would look at this and consider it cruel. But, is it cruel to instill that strong sense of self-reliance at birth, in an environment where day to day life can be deadly? No, I think not. The weak just do not survive here. A kaiila is equipped at birth with what it needs to survive, so it simply becomes a question of strength of body and will.


I often watch Ciegue in amazement. I have no doubts that he was blind at birth on that one side. Or, let me say, physically blind. When you stop and think about it, the odds on him surviving are something that I could not even begin to think on. There he is new to the world, abandoned by his mother, as all kaiila are, and only seeing half of that world. Kaiila do not tolerate the weak. I have seen them attack and kill one of their own that that showed a weakness, it is their way of maybe keeping bloodlines strong. I can only wonder at that, his being able to survive.


But he did survive, and adjusted to life in a harsh environment. I think back to when I first saw him. He was not with a herd, but totally alone. I can remember looking across that cold stream, to see him standing there like a black enigma on that snowy bank, looking at me with that blue eye, regal, unapproachable. I was astounded. But not nearly as astounded as I was when he turned and seemed to focus that milky, blind eye on me, in a long gaze of assessment. I cannot even begin to count the number of times, I have watched him turn that blind eye on someone, almost as if it saw deeper than the surface, to a place that told more about them than what they presented to the world.


The beast is my friend. I would not even begin to say that I am his Mistress, or that I own or possess him. We came to an understanding long ago, that we have a destiny together. One of the very few disagreements that I have had with Fonce, was over the animal, but it was he, that told me that my destiny was intertwined with Ciegue, not his. I accept that as one of those spex things, of the knowledge they have that sets them apart from us.


I even muse at times, that Ciegue is the haruspex of the kaiila herd. Fonce and Ciegue are both my protectors, they have both saved my life. And, I know that they will both be there for me. Will they do everything for me? Skies, I hope not. I will be hurt and disappointed if they did. I don't think either of them would hamstring me in that fashion. I think they both realize how important the integrity of my independence is to me, and they will both honor that.


But, if either of them see me going down for the third time, whether it be physically, emotionally or mentally. I know, that all I have to do is reach out, and one or both of them will be there to pull me to safety. In fact, they may know that I need that connection, that pull to safety, before I do.


It's the spex thing.

Unconditional Love

With the support of Rook and Gabe, she had managed to help with the salvage of the kaiila pens. Fortunately, they had managed to get the rails down so that the bulk of the herd had been able to escape, but there were a few burned carcasses around, then there were those that had succumbed to the smoke. As is the nature of smoke, it rises and the lofty creatures did not have a chance. They were not able to get close to the ground, like the sleen, where the fresher air was.


This ordeal was hard for her. Everywhere she looked, she saw burned earth, dead bodies, and would have to stop from time to time, when the flashbacks would invade her mind. It was almost as if Rook knew when this happened, because he was right there, with a hand on her back, speaking low into her ear that she was fine, and if this was too hard, to go back to the wagons. She would shake her head. This had to be worked through, and that was not going to happen safely ensconced in her wagon with the girls.


Walking along, she saw something that stunned and revolted her at the same time. She saw a bird, literally petrified in ashes, perched statuesquely on the ground at the base of a fence post. Sickened by the sight, she nudged it with the toe of her boot, and jumped back as three tiny chicks scurried from beneath their dead mother's wings. Dropping to her knees, she reached out to capture one of them, holding it gently in her hands, as tears streamed down her face. It was not hard to understand what had happened.


The loving mother had sensed the impending disaster and had carried her offspring to the base of the post and had gathered them under her wings, instinctively knowing that the toxic smoke would rise. She could have flown to safety, but had refused to abandon her babies. When the blaze had arrived, and the heat had scorched her small body, the mother had remained steadfast....because she had been willing to die, so those under the cover of her wings could live.


Carefully she gathered the three chicks up, holding them against the warmth of her body and walked slowly to her wagon, totally unaware of those that looked at her oddly, or that spoke to her.


Suddenly, she understood the unconditional love of a mother, and vowed that she would try to come as close to that mother bird as she could. Hopefully, she will find the strength to be that strong and self-sacrificing. If not, she would spend the rest of her life striving for that.

When will it end?

I had been sitting at my wagons, playing the flute until the girls fell asleep. It was a quiet night, other than the occasional tone of voices of someone coming back, from finding a family member dead in the ruins of the fire. I tried to push them out of my head, but my heart ached for each and every one of them, and I will admit to a twinge of guilt that we were all safe.


I think, when I saw him step from the shadows, that I knew something was wrong, simply by the look on his face. He had come to crouch down beside me, his huge hand moving to gently brush over the heads of his sleeping nieces. He began to speak in a low voice, that was tinged with pain.


He told of what he had learned, and of the bravery and self-sacrifice of my nephew. The pain that stabbed through me, took my breath away and a sob rose in my throat, only to be captured there in a huge lump of emotion. Rook brought juneau over to pick up the girls and take them to bed, then sat down beside me, wrapping that familiar arm around me that has been my strength through so much.


Finally I cried. Not the heart wrenching sobs of loss, but quite tears of knowing that the one that had been a part of my life for so long, was now gone. I know that death is a part of life, and that I am not the only one to have lost something here. I immediately thought of Noya and the twins, and of how devastating this was for them. Those precious children that would grow up, not knowing truly, what a remarkable, kind, gentle man their father was. I hope that the time they had with him, will be indelibly stained into their hearts and memories.


Ayguili stayed, and after I calmed down, the three of us spoke of Trilok. It is good to see that others respect him as a man, and a warrior, and it is good to know that Ayguili has vowed to see that Noya and the children will be cared for. With a sigh of resignation, I asked if anyone had been sent to tell his parents, Ephrim and Anya. Ayguili admitted that he had not told them yet, and I said that I would. With a shake of his head, he said no, that it was his duty, and he would attend to it.


We came to an agreement, that we would both go. He said that Aslan was with Noya and the children, and I felt that I needed to be with my brother and his mate when the blow was delivered. We talked quietly on the walk in search of where their wagons were parked. About Trilock, and the loss of so many more. I could see that those broad shoulders were drooping from the responsibility of what had happened, and I tried to reassure him, that he had done a good job in saving the rest of us. I don't think right now, that is enough for him, but hopefully in time, it will be.


My arrival with the Ubar in tow, was the harbinger of bad news. Trilok was their only child. Anaya had great difficulty with his birth, and the healers had told them.....no more. And my brother, being the honorable man that he was, and having the love for the woman that he did, made sure it did not happen again. And they had been happy.


When I walked to place a hand on Ephrim's arm, he simply nodded, knowing before either Ayguili or I spoke. He knew. I think that is the way with parents who love their children, they just know. I stepped to Anya, put my arms around her an simply held her as she cried quietly. Ayguili stepped away with Ephrim, to probably give him what details he wanted. I know that he wanted to make sure that they knew Trilok had perished honorably, saving one of his men.


Ephrim finally came to take Anya away, to speak to her and try and comfort her. Word traveled quickly by the slaves, and soon the others were there. Hiram and Daris, Enos and Celeste, then Dorian with a young woman that I did not know, but got the impression that she was someone special to him. There will be time later for me to quiz him. Tears were shed, questions asked about Noya and the twins. I knew that over the next few days, my brothers and their mates would find her, and envelop her in the love that we all seem to share. I hope it brings her the comfort, that it has always brought me.


Working with Daris and Celeste, and the young woman, who I found out was Lauren, we put together a meal. It is a funny thing about our family and death, it always seems to be a time for food. It is just how we are. You may not have the appetite for it, but it is there. For one thing, women seem to combine their strengths and share their grief over it. Feeding the body, goes towards feeding the soul. The love that goes into the preparation, seems to reach out and place a warm hug over all those sharing the meal.


At one point, I think that Ayguili tried to slip away, but it was my brother Hiram that drew him back within the circle. I made sure that he had a plate, and sat beside him as he ate. And for once, he did not urge food on my, which was a good thing, because I am not sure it would have gotten past the lump in my throat.


Conversation turned to Trilok, and stories were told about him growing up. I saw these glimpses of memories, of what a pudgy little thing he was, with this stubborn set to his chin, or chins as it was back in those days. He was remembered with love and humor, as only a family can do. Even when the pain of loss seems to be so thick you cannot see through it, you still cannot help but remember smiles, toddling first steps, pranks played, then the ones you were the victim of. All fond memories.


When Ayguili did stand and prepare to get back to his duties, that was when Anya approached him, gave him a hug and whispered words into his hear. I will never breathe a word of this, but tears slowly slid down his cheek as he nodded, then gave his be wells and walked off into the darkness.


I sat there for a time, and wondered how many times he has had to do this over the last couple of days? How many times he has had to deliver the news of the loss of a loved one. I do not envy him his duty, but I will always respect him for the compassion and dignity he tries to do it with.


Farewell Trilok. I love you, I will miss you, and there is a place inside of me, that will always be empty without you.

Anger--The Second Stage of Grief--Not quite, but close.

The morning after the fire I awoke with a sense of surrealism, that came from not understanding exactly what had happened. I can now accept the fact that for some reason, I had allowed myself to detach from reality again, which disturbed me greatly. It was just not me to do that. However, after my talk with Fonce last evening, I realize that it is natural. That there have been so many shocks to my mind recently, that it was only trying to protect itself, and me, from any more pain.


This morning, I awoke with a new resolve. All of my family is safe, not only here, but my brothers and their families in the outer wagons. Today was a day to start shuffling through the ashes, to salvage what we could of our former lives. The night of the fire, Rook had managed to save my wagon, the boys' wagon, one supply wagon and his personal wagon. How much more was left to bring to this side of the stream, was yet to be known.


The morning was spent in trying to round up the kaiila into some semblance of order, they are almost as important to our survival out here as the bosk. I finally made my way to where the wagons were, and began to survey the damage and to being to take care of what is mine. It was actually a blow to see all that people had lost, to see the death and sorrow that hung like a cloud over everyone. I even have this flash, of seeing Tarra find the remains of the slave lily in the ravages of what were once Kam and Chay's wagons. Thankfully, that is all she found.


Rook had brought teams to pull what was left of our wagons down across the stream to sit with the others. Some were not worth moving, but I needed to get inside them to see if their contents could be saved.


One that had taken a great deal of damage was Ba'atars' personal wagon. His sanctuary away from things. I have never set foot in this wagon, in fact, I was forbidden to do so. The closest I ever came to that wagon, was to set his laundry, done by my own hands, in the manner he insisted upon, on the steps of his wagon. From there his slaves tended to it. But this morning, that barrier was set aside, so that I could see if there was anything in there that I could salvage to keep and pass on to his children.


Stepping inside that wagon was almost like a physical blow for some reason. His presence was imprinted on this place. His extra lances, extra sets of quiva, the clothing that he did not take with him, they were all there, screaming his name to me. There was his sleeping platform, and beside it another platform that was covered with two of the most beautiful furs I have ever seen, one white and one black. He had mentioned these to me before. They were for his slaves, the one he had and the one he intended to get. I was hit by a rush of emotions. The only thing, in all of the time that we were together, that he had ever brought to me, was that small pot of blue flowers. I will not say they were not important, but they are little to show for our lives together. For some reason, this stabbed through me like a hot dagger, but I pushed it away.


I toed the edge of the furs with my boot, and saw the corner of a book hidden beneath them. Stooping, I threw the furs back, to discover another book. I probably should have just left them there, but the curiosity within me didn't do that.


Leaning my hip against a chest, I opened one tilting it towards the light coming in from the entrance and began to read. That darkness of anger began to eat at me again. I was over protective of the girls? When a man wants to dye one of his own children blue so that he can tell them apart, because he is too lazy to look and see the birthmark that one of them carried, do stand in the way of such folly, makes me over protective?


When one of my own sons, tells me quietly that his father doesn't like him, is it over protective to try and comfort him. To get angry, when one of your sons, calls you a wench, a word he has learned from his father, is that over protective?


So, he was going to wash his hands of the girls, of his own daughters? Why does that not surprise me, they are female, not much to get excited about there, now are they? Not like sons. I see again, where the lies he told about pride and love for them, were just that, lies told before others, to make him look a good father.


I think it is when I read about the death of his sweet nithya? Now, could this be the death of the slave that he had thrown to the Kassar sleen that were tracking him, to save his own behind? And even then, he did not have the balls to do it himself, he ordered Ayguili to do it. And now she haunts him with her beauty and her blue eyes. Bosk Shit!


The rage I felt at that moment was hotter than the fires that had consumed the grasses. I slammed that book shut, opened the other, and it only fed that rage more. Songs of beauty and love, written to another? In neither of these tomes was there a single word of kindness about me. His mate, the one he was supposed to treasure above all others, the woman that has given him children. Not a single word of love or kindness. In that moment, I realized how blind I had been. What a fool he had made of me.


My rage took on life. Taking my quiva, I shredded those two beautiful furs, then I took in after his own sleeping furs, shredding them with a strength that I did not know I had. I then turned around in the wagon, seeing the slave perfumes, the things he kept for them, and I began to toss them out onto the ground. Jealous? Hell yes I was jealous, but not so much of them, but I was jealous of the time that I have spent on him, loving him, trying to make him a good mate, and to suddenly realize how little it mattered to him. How little, I mattered to him.


Those stacks of laundered tunics, and cleaned and brushed leathers suddenly loomed up like monsters. I threw them out onto the ground, then followed them, kicking them around in the dirt, screaming at the absent warrior. ..How do you like that? How is that for doing your clothes just like your mother. I was not your damn mother, you bosk arse!


And I wasn't. Sometimes, I think that he should have stayed with his mother that was the perfect embodiment of womanhood. The perfect cook, the perfect mother, the perfect mate. I think if he could have gotten children from his mothers's womb, he would have had no need for me or any other woman.


I distinctly remember kicking a pair of leathers and mumbling to myself. Paint my ass for your amusement? What man even suggests that about his mate. Hmm? Did you find it amusing?


That rage just would not be cooled. I was not even aware that there were those around. I was totally beyond that, lost in my own world of anger and pain. And yes, it was pain that drove me too. The pain of loving someone, then knowing that they did not love you. I am not real sure that he even had the capacity to love anyone but himself..


I did become aware of Ayguili sort of pulling the others away from me, almost as if he were protecting them. I sensed amusement in them all. Finally, I regained some of my composure, brushed the tendrils of hair away from my cheeks, tucked those books under my arm and walked over to the group.


I handed the book of songs to Ayguili, and asked if he would give them to Aamon. When I was asked, didn't I want to keep them for his children, I whipped around, narrowing my eyes and said...


Why would I want to save songs for my children that were written for other women, than their mother?


With that, I looked back once more at that wagon then to Ayguili, and told him to take the wood from it, the contents that were left, and burn it. Use it as fuel for the pyres that we all knew were to be held. Then without another word, I lifted my head and walked with as much dignity as I could back to my wagons and my children.


The journal would be kept for now. I would read every word of it, then I would burn it, and in essence, burn than man out of my life.