Getting the wagons moving, went as they do. Sadly it was easier then usual. Less wagons, less people, less creatures. It was harder cause the weight was heavier in emotions as we started away from the grounds that were still strong in the smell of the aftermath of the fire. I got the wagons of those injured going towards the front, so that even in the slow pace of bosk, they would be moving in flow with the wagons never wavering from their protection. I stayed towards the back personally on the first day, near the healer clan wagons to be able to keep the supplies stocked in saddle bags for all those who would be keeping along the lines. The feeling was heavy on me, many feelings. Its hard to sort them to just one, as some were old ones surfacing again like a nightmare others were new, and still trying to keep control of them. Most of my life I have spent in struggle with myself. My inner fight makes me dwell so deeply in my clan. I want to save so many, to where I still can't save myself. I fight against my own blood, my own flesh, even the essence of my manhood though the scars that lined my face told all, I needed to prove nothing to anyone but those who felt I earned each one. I had not lived this long by making foolish mistakes, or making all the right choices. The Sky felt I still needed to learn and that is what I was doing. Maybe she was waiting for me to finally figure out and find peace in myself. Would she allow me to live hundreds of more years if I do? Or will she finally allow me to rest. I didn't think to hard on the outcome, but knew I had to find some ground within, to find a calm plain of being happy with the man I was.
I don't know if it is why I have longed for a mate lately? I wanted to feel, embrace, true Tuchuk blood that would call me Father. Making me feel truly a woven fiber of this tribe. I was a man, a Tuchuk, a Warrior, a Healer, now I wanted to feel all of these things. Why did blood drive me so insane? Had I not killed with my own hands, felt the blood and fade of pulse from those I was born to? Yes I had. I have no doubt I would again before it was my time to see who truly was waiting for me in the Sky. There was only usual wounds of moving this day. Falling off kaiila's, debris from cracked wheels, children trying to jump from one wagon to another, or slaves to close to moving wheels. So there was always broken bones here and there, wounds to stitch some to bandage, bones to set, it was all in a day's work. When it was time to call for the halt, I went to help with bosk, parking wagons, head counts, restocking again, and assessing any who were ill prior and double checking the rest.
Once I had time, the first thing I did, was go find Natalia and Niyati. Astar and Oren welcomed me to share the meal with the girls, and Natalia told me how she had explained how rubbing goat milk and oil against to flesh to Oren would make her look younger. Soon she would have young Warriors lining up to whisk her away. I was speechless for an ehn, not sure where that came from. Nothing I taught her, but I didn't scold her either. It made me wonder a bit on her past, sounds like something an older Sister or Mother would tell young girls. Perhaps they were gatherers. They knew well oils and plants. Even uses for everything from milk to butter to oils for the sky. I would often go get their advice. It would explain some of her medical knowledge, for they had vast information that helped the healing clan beyond words. It was nice to eat, and laugh. It was a warm feeling of family. I hated to leave. I did. Natalia cried, wanting to come with me, and I told her, I wouldn't be able to help any, as long as I was worrying about her. Her and Niyati there with Oren and Astar brought me peace.
I left with that new feeling bothering me. I cared so much for the girls already. Everyday there was fear of their Family's return. How selfish of me. I went to the fires a bit, my restlessness didn't allow me to stay long. Yes, the children were on my mind, but it was more. A deeper conflict that I spent almost a hundred years fighting. Questioning. Why was it freshly aroused now? The fires brought more then its rage on the land, the tribe and our display of showing how we will live and survive. It brought conflict in the man I am. Having a dick doesn't truly make me a male of Tribe. For only a male that lives past his scars, and shows being worthy of a name, and skill to be one of a clan, is truly a Warrior of Tribe.
My pure Paravaci blood and name mark me more then the scars across my body when I tired to remove my own skin. Bleed out the blood I didn't want. My compassionate heart makes me as skilled as my mind and hands. I know how precious life is. I have been trained to give and take it away. I have given my breath to this tribe, and consider myself a Tuchuk Warrior in title earn, though not born to. I find my body contorting in twisted feeling of being a Warrior and a healer. I want to fight and protect. I want to kill and raid. I find myself more at the whims of wagons and tears. Blood and flesh, in molding life, preserving it. Honorable, yes, for the Sky gave me these gifts and I thank Her by never letting wound be left open to the elements.
The fire showed me such conflict, I was feeling the inner man wanting to rip away the healer skin, and ride towards the fire, dig a trench, pulled out barrels, risk my life to see another bosk and wagon were saved. Other men were there. Not I. I was in the wagons, salving burns, wrapping limbs, stopping the rain of blood that seemed endless that day. Could it be the rested nights of retired mask that heightens this conflict? I have no idea. Then I felt like a foot solder of my Ubar. I don't have less obedience now to this Ubar as I did back then to the ones of the far past. I have less a personal knowledge. Coming to the first wagons made me embrace this. Perhaps why I feel a pull to go to Turia to burn, rape, pillage. Or was it something deeper? I wanted to feel all man again. Bath in the blood of people I despise. I would never take a Paravaci slave. Or touch one. Yet, I blame their men, a man, all Paravaci men. For making me feel like their mirror image.
These hands, these healing hands, I hate them. I want them coarse, burned and calloused from a life time of hard work. I work no less then any other man, I know, but my mind for some reason refuses to let me accept this. I didn't know who to turn to. Who would make this go away. Did not my Father tell me there is honor in what we do? We were all born on a path we learn to walk forward on. Even when it was so steep we thought we wouldn't make it. Respect this. I am trying Father. I don't know why, these feelings are haunting me again.
I don't know if it is why I have longed for a mate lately? I wanted to feel, embrace, true Tuchuk blood that would call me Father. Making me feel truly a woven fiber of this tribe. I was a man, a Tuchuk, a Warrior, a Healer, now I wanted to feel all of these things. Why did blood drive me so insane? Had I not killed with my own hands, felt the blood and fade of pulse from those I was born to? Yes I had. I have no doubt I would again before it was my time to see who truly was waiting for me in the Sky. There was only usual wounds of moving this day. Falling off kaiila's, debris from cracked wheels, children trying to jump from one wagon to another, or slaves to close to moving wheels. So there was always broken bones here and there, wounds to stitch some to bandage, bones to set, it was all in a day's work. When it was time to call for the halt, I went to help with bosk, parking wagons, head counts, restocking again, and assessing any who were ill prior and double checking the rest.
Once I had time, the first thing I did, was go find Natalia and Niyati. Astar and Oren welcomed me to share the meal with the girls, and Natalia told me how she had explained how rubbing goat milk and oil against to flesh to Oren would make her look younger. Soon she would have young Warriors lining up to whisk her away. I was speechless for an ehn, not sure where that came from. Nothing I taught her, but I didn't scold her either. It made me wonder a bit on her past, sounds like something an older Sister or Mother would tell young girls. Perhaps they were gatherers. They knew well oils and plants. Even uses for everything from milk to butter to oils for the sky. I would often go get their advice. It would explain some of her medical knowledge, for they had vast information that helped the healing clan beyond words. It was nice to eat, and laugh. It was a warm feeling of family. I hated to leave. I did. Natalia cried, wanting to come with me, and I told her, I wouldn't be able to help any, as long as I was worrying about her. Her and Niyati there with Oren and Astar brought me peace.
I left with that new feeling bothering me. I cared so much for the girls already. Everyday there was fear of their Family's return. How selfish of me. I went to the fires a bit, my restlessness didn't allow me to stay long. Yes, the children were on my mind, but it was more. A deeper conflict that I spent almost a hundred years fighting. Questioning. Why was it freshly aroused now? The fires brought more then its rage on the land, the tribe and our display of showing how we will live and survive. It brought conflict in the man I am. Having a dick doesn't truly make me a male of Tribe. For only a male that lives past his scars, and shows being worthy of a name, and skill to be one of a clan, is truly a Warrior of Tribe.
My pure Paravaci blood and name mark me more then the scars across my body when I tired to remove my own skin. Bleed out the blood I didn't want. My compassionate heart makes me as skilled as my mind and hands. I know how precious life is. I have been trained to give and take it away. I have given my breath to this tribe, and consider myself a Tuchuk Warrior in title earn, though not born to. I find my body contorting in twisted feeling of being a Warrior and a healer. I want to fight and protect. I want to kill and raid. I find myself more at the whims of wagons and tears. Blood and flesh, in molding life, preserving it. Honorable, yes, for the Sky gave me these gifts and I thank Her by never letting wound be left open to the elements.
The fire showed me such conflict, I was feeling the inner man wanting to rip away the healer skin, and ride towards the fire, dig a trench, pulled out barrels, risk my life to see another bosk and wagon were saved. Other men were there. Not I. I was in the wagons, salving burns, wrapping limbs, stopping the rain of blood that seemed endless that day. Could it be the rested nights of retired mask that heightens this conflict? I have no idea. Then I felt like a foot solder of my Ubar. I don't have less obedience now to this Ubar as I did back then to the ones of the far past. I have less a personal knowledge. Coming to the first wagons made me embrace this. Perhaps why I feel a pull to go to Turia to burn, rape, pillage. Or was it something deeper? I wanted to feel all man again. Bath in the blood of people I despise. I would never take a Paravaci slave. Or touch one. Yet, I blame their men, a man, all Paravaci men. For making me feel like their mirror image.
These hands, these healing hands, I hate them. I want them coarse, burned and calloused from a life time of hard work. I work no less then any other man, I know, but my mind for some reason refuses to let me accept this. I didn't know who to turn to. Who would make this go away. Did not my Father tell me there is honor in what we do? We were all born on a path we learn to walk forward on. Even when it was so steep we thought we wouldn't make it. Respect this. I am trying Father. I don't know why, these feelings are haunting me again.
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