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February 28, 2008

THU 28 FEB

to be continued… By Gimmy Vincent

sister, born new this season, asleep, warm and comforted in the woolly lining of the bag.
    Damaris placed her hand on the baby’s warm, white belly, soothingly, and the calf made slight sucking noises but did not wake.wow leveln
    
“One of these days, I’ll show them.” He boasted angrily, and Damaris ignored him.
    He wouldn’t.wow lvl service
    She didn’t know why, but she knew enough.wow power leveling
    They were still vastly unimportant, the young bulls full of adolescent bravado, the young heifers just coming old enough to realize there was a distinction.sell wow gold
    “I mean it.” He continued, and she glanced up at him.wow level up</a>.
    “Certainly.” She agreed, and his glare grew to include her.lineage 2 adena
    
“Don’t you start.” He rumbled, his brows lowering, shadowing his dark face in stormy anger.
    “I know.” He said before she finished drawing breath to answer, and holding up his hand.
    “They are unimportant.
    Easy for you to say.”
No, not easy for her to say.
    She pulled nervously at the edge of her tunic and swished her tail.
    It was damned difficult.
    They were her camp, her clan, her people, and they did not fit in her life.
    And if she didn’t fit here, where she’d been born and raised, did she fit anywhere.
     Her people were only now stepping back from the brink of extinction, these should be more important than that.
    “You will go away.” She stated.
    “You will learn to be a warrior.” Few disputed that.
    The bigger he got, the more obvious that became.
    He would have to leave here to fulfill what he was meant to be.
    “And you will be great.” It was a truth, unembellished by any false desire to make him feel better.
    He would be.
    And she would be there to see it happen.
<hr/>    More truths.
    This time of golden afternoons and brazen blue skies was fleeting.
    
The calf shifted in her bag, and her sucking noises grew louder, interspersed with the occasional mewing bawl.
    Damaris pulled her from the bag, lifting her not inconsiderable weight to her shoulder.
    While Damaris had been born frail, this one was strong, healthy.
    “Hush, little one.” She soothed, but knew it was an impossible task.
    Amadis was hungry and feeding was the only thing that Damaris could not do for her.
    Let Tarik stew in his own rejection, her words meant little to him, yet.
    She turned from her study of the east, shadowed by the mountain range, bearing Amadis into the camp and to their mother.
    Elidi Skychaser toiled beside the oven, baking bread, her brown nose marked by streaks of flour.
    Her eldest living child had stripes on her nose as well, but Damaris’s were permanent, pale streaks against the black of her face.
    “She’s hungry.”
“Yes.
    It’s about that time.
    I’ll feed her, you knead.”
.

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