Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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The afternoon was dark and silent. Wind whipping the sand in eddies, blowing it with unwelcome, stinging vitriol into eyes and faces. The world was bereft of all but the biting cold prevailing wind, and relentlessly driven sand. The black sticks of the remaining bushes and trees shuddered in its invisible grasp. There was no bird song, or a myriad of desert creatures scurrying about their lives. It was an almost dead land, encompassed in an equally ghastly silence.
Most had gathered about the fire in the great cave. There was really little else to occupy the time, and the time had moved slowly here of recent months. Though these people were in essence a community and relied on cohesion to survive, of late there had been little of that. The morale that held them all together was almost stripped threadbare.
Maya sat listlessly, putting the final touches on a pair of goat hide pants that she had crafted out of duty and fear for her new master Gareth. As always her mind was far away reveling in another place, a distant time. Youthful mind and desires longing for the man who had gone away, he who had been exiled into the cold and had never returned.
Maya pined for him, her golden man. He had spared her minuscule life after all. Then just as cruelly he had been sent away. She struggled with all that had happened, and all that had been done. Her new master was bad tempered, possessive, and cruel. He struck her at the slightest displeasure. His only redeeming feature was he did not wish to share his pretty prize. Maya would every evening close her eyes in the reviled man's embrace, trying to be grateful for the warmth and protection he offered, giving him her body, but never once her mind.
Raissa sat close by, young Eirik swaddled in rabbit furs on her lap. The baby blissfully immune from the cold. Maya studied the sleeping infant closely, he was a captivating wonder to her. His skin so soft and new, eyes so bright.
She loved the way his chubby little fingers would settle about hers, and marveled that someday he would grow into the essence of the fierce and large men she sometimes feared. Often she day dreamed about having a little one of her own. At every opportunity she would volunteer to help mind young Eirik, something Raissa was very grateful for. The two girls had become very close friends in the process.
Sven crouched to the other side of Raissa, dwarfing her. Maya found her eyes often strayed to regard him. He was the brother of the man she had lost after all. He was big and strong, a bull of a man. Neck thick, shoulders powerful, chest and stomach flat and hard. His arms the size and girth of the logs he tossed so effortlessly into the bonfire.
She often stopped to wonder whether that which was whispered about him was true? Was he really less of a man, gelded like a horse or steer? He did have a child after all.
Perhaps it was only a rumor borne out of jealousy? Maya was also angry at Sven, in a resigned kind of way. She would not dare confront a man like that, but resentment burned inside her. The way Sven had shunned her when her protector had been driven away. He was Aran's kin, why did Sven not step forward to protect her and claim her for his own? Surely he could have easily?
