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The path of the stream was one of peaceful stride. Beyond the vulo caged at my side, only a loose feather or two would be a the only hinder of my view. I enjoy watching the motions of the stream against breeze and shoreline. Sometimes it makes life seem so much more simple when one thinks of the complex life of water. Such fury and rage, between cool and warm wraps of drops that touch the flesh. I have found in warm rain, it brings back feelings of old. Heavy droplets against my hand, heated by the Sky. It lacks only a strong aroma of copper. Such dormant feelings starting to stir. I would be a fool to deny it has been fed by being so close to the Ubar's wagons. The only time I would walk those grounds so many lifetimes before was to leave a token of task completed. A bone, with a delicate bladed design of a bosk against its surface. Just a piece, smooth, ivory from being washed. Scarlet color of a bosk. I had a chest of them. Always a pair. One for the Ubar, one for myself. I remember each. This feeling was a twisted bind of nerves that were pulsing at my finger tips.

Cravings to serve with pride and honor. It was something beyond just a natural pride and devotion we are born into. Every child is born with this. I believe that. A will pure, and molded by personal will and inner drive that forms as we get older. I wondered what a son of my own be like. Would he see life like myself? I feel a have a lot of my Father in me. A man, who's blood didn't run in my veins. Who's home I wasn't born to. Was it not a Paravaci's blood that first stained my fingers when I became a man? The conflict had been one that could have killed a man's sanity, the fury of honor found to do what I felt I was born to do. To be this Tuchuk's Son. How my fever of my first scar brought so many haunting's of my soul. What had I done? How dare I turn my back on the core of my flesh. How I hated my flesh back then. How I woke up once the fever was gone, to the welcome of pain across my jaw. How it was joined with a surge of agony that went from my arms to my legs, and across my chest. My Father was there, beside me, the look in his eyes was of an undying pride and love. I could only smile, beyond how much it hurt. I wanted to touch my scar, feel its heat of healing. I was..proud of myself. I couldn't reach up without a pain that was white and blinding. I asked, what happened?

The story he told, was more painful then what I was feeling now. In my fever, my dreams, my fury, I was crying out in war. War with myself. I wanted to shed my flesh I was so ashamed of. I wanted to peel it away and be born again in the life I felt I could only embrace by blood. He had no idea where I got the quiva from, for he had it put away deep in his chest, but I found it, and used each blade of the set to try to cut away my skin. I was found in a pool of blood. He didn't think I would live. But I had. I bore the scars and once my face had healed, my Father was true to his word to teach me a lesson. He beat me, a newly Scarred Warrior, to the brink of my death. I think he might have killed me, left my body in the herd of bosk to be stomped into the ground if I hadn't finally understood. He stepped back, me, a pulp of bruises and blood, on all fours upon the ground littered with dung. The men, on kaiila's in the herds not coming closer to even inquire.

I understand Father.

I understand, pride is not flesh, I understand its not skin that make me a man. Its not my body that makes me a son, makes me a Warrior, makes me Tuchuk. Loyalty is of the soul, pride is of the soul, honor is inside.

Now, I understood. We never spoke of it again. Didn't need to. I bore the scars of my doubts. Funny how a walk to the stream brought these to life again. I watched two women at the waters then, walking closer. Tarra and Mezoo. They both brought a lighter mood. We spoke of my short mating that left me with just vulo of its memory. Life had to be looked at with amusement. The Sky, She had humor. We spoke a bit and I did a courageous rescue of Tarra. She almost went down in the rage of the calm waters. Smirk. Wet boots were the result, but they were also rescued. I had a pending dinner, I think. I had a vulo. I had to walk home barefooted, but not in all, a bad evening.