Do Not Take Candy from Strangers....Or Drink from Green Bottles

Everyone is pushing me to eat. The girls, Rook, my children, everyone seems to have an opinion as to how much I need to consume to sustain me. I know that I am thin, and I know that I need to eat. And I do try to eat small amounts several times a day, but at this point, I simply refuse any more broth or tea. I may never drink another mug of tea as long as I live. It has become disgusting to me, perhaps because so much of it has been forced upon me.


When I had arrived at the fires last evening, I had asked that new slave to bring me a small plate of bread and cheese. I think the girl must have misjudged my size, and my hunger. The plate she brought to me could have fed a good sized, starving warrior. As I watched those around me, and listened to the banter, I nibbled at the food. There was some softer verr cheese that I spread on the small slices of bread. The piquant flavor of it is so different than cheese made from bosk milk, that I found it appealing in a way. But it is also very rich, so a little is all that I ate, and soon I was feeling full.


For some reason, that was not enough. I have a great deal of respect for Ayguili, but there are times that he can be worse than a mother vulo. He took the seat beside me, and began to encourage me to eat more, right down to trying to hand feed me. I will have to admit, my irritation got the best of me, and soon I was feeling suffocated by all of the attention. I simply wanted to sit there, enjoy the company, and to watch quietly, but it was not to be. So, to escape, I soon lifted to my feet and decided that a walk would be better for me.


As is usual, I found myself at the kaiila pens, among those that I am truly comfortable with. They always accept me for who I am, and damn it all, they do not try to force food down my throat. It was actually Ciegue that I came to see. There is just something about the beast that calms me, that helps me to center myself, and last night, it was no different. He seemed to know that I was reaching out for some sort of anchor, some peace.


That peace was soon interrupted. Along the path came Ongel, Tarra and that same slave that had thought to feed me so well earlier. And lo and behold they were carrying baskets of food and drink. Good grief!


I will have to admit here, that portions of what happened next are a bit fuzzy in my memory. A fur was laid out near the clan fire, and was suddenly covered with quite an array of meats, cheeses and sweets. The first words out of Ongel's mouth were that he could no longer be my healer, instead he would be my friend.


I have mixed feelings on this. A male healer still makes me uncomfortable. The closest thing I have ever had to that, was that friend of Kam and Tarras' that came to visit once. His name was Sinjin, and he was a likeable man, and a healer. At the time, I was carrying Loch's child, and he brought up the prospect of checking me over and tending to me during the pregnancy. If my memory serves, I found a way to put him off. Not because I did not like him, in fact he was pleasant company, but because he was a man. I am just not all that crazy to think that a man, other than one I am mated to, seeing the more intimate parts of me. And, I have no idea what all Ongel did, or saw while I was deep in sleep, but it does bother me a bit. So being his friend, and saving my health for Silken or Kaeli, actually falls more into my zone of comfort.


I do know at one point, they were urging me to eat. In an effort to seem at least a bit convivial I did sit down and began to partake of the food they brought. Now, I do have this small weakness for sweets, and so does my new friend, the healer, from what I observed. He even manage to cajole Tarra into having a few.


But, I think what may have done me in, was the beverage that he had in this green, glass bottle. I am not a drinker, most women that I know are not. I will have an occasional mug of mulled wine, but other than that, I just do not drink the stronger stuff. But he poured us some of the syrupy liquid into small glasses.


At first taste, the sweetness of it, was pleasant, and I liked it, in spite of the fire that I felt as it went down my throat to settle in my stomach. After the second glass, that fire spread like a comforting warmth all through my body, and the food seemed to be more palatable. I think it was during this time that the wager was set out. It has to do with which of the three of us can gain the most weight within a certain amount of time. If Tarra or I win, I believe he has to clean our wagons. But if he wins, we have to paint his. Well, sorry buckwheat, but I barely get my own wagons painted, so I am going to have to work hard on winning this particular wager.


The tarsk was tender and juicy, the fruit tarts delicious, and it seemed that my little glass never had a chance to get empty. Turian liquor. That is what he called it, and said he had developed his penchant for it through one of his slaves. I looked over, seeing a slave, then maybe the shadow of another almost on top of her. Why was she grinning and weaving? When had the second one shown up, then the third?


In all honesty, I can not tell you everything that happened. But I do know this, after I sang this little ditty that I have heard the men around the pens sing, Rook decided it was time for bed. I can remember him sweeping me up into his arms, and looking over his shoulder to waggle my fingers at them. And I do remember as we walked along, asking him if he had ever drank Turian Liquor, only to be met with one of those grunts that I know so well.


I slept well. Actually, it was the first deep sleep I have had since I awoke from what they call my coma. This does not mean I do not sleep. I nap and I doze, but I find that when I begin to succumb to that deeper level of sleep, the one where we dream, I wake up in a sweat, terrified. They tell me that will pass in time. But last night, I did sleep, and there were no dreams.


This morning is an entirely different story. Why does the light seem so bright, and the children outside my wagon so loud? When I awoke, a wave of queasiness tumbled from me, and I barely managed to hang my head over the sleeping furs to loose the contents of my stomach into a basin. The sweet, overpowering aroma almost made me retch again. And what is that pale green liquid that seems to float atop it all?


I fell back into my furs, trying to remember the previous evening. And I had to groan, at the memory of singing that little off-colored song for them. Good Skies! What was I thinking?


I have made a vow to never again, accept anything from any one, that comes from a green, glass bottle. Friend, or not.