Delightful

Word travels through the harigga faster than the drums can carry them. News of the Ubar’s newest addition came from Paschal’s youngest daughter Zarna. At least that was the reason she gave me when she hopped up on the buckboard and plunked down beside me.

Two girls, How delightful. I smiled at that thought. I remembered teasing he and Cana both about needing more young women to go around for all the brave warriors yet to be scarred. It is good that Ba’atar listens to his people. If I am not mistaken, I won a wager in all of that but I can’t think of who it was with now. The important thing was that Cana and the babies were well and that the Ubar wasn’t disappointed with the twist in fates for his wagons of boys. It was important too that the sky still smiled on her beloved Tuchuks.

Zarna helped me pull out a small chest from my storage wagon. I don’t know why women have this ritual when it comes to small delicate things. We often trace our fingers over the soft textures, shake them out so we can inspect or perhaps admire them, then we fold them back with utmost care and rest them on our laps. I did this with each item I’d packed away since hearing of my clan leader’s new term. Petals of a lightly fragrant wild flower had been placed between the folds when I put them away, now the dried bits cascaded onto my lap or caught in the breeze. I held a tiny tunic up, breathing deep.

It was not the smell of a newborn but still it had its effect. It provoked that fierce protective nature that most all women seemed to possess, coaxing it to the surface. There were the tiny pairs of white boots I had made and miniature bosks made of pink rep for the infants to suckle as teeth began to form. Two. Two of everything, each in shades of dainty and feminine. I ran my hand over the brushed tabuk skin throws just enjoying the feel of it. I watched Zarna do the same. A mirror image in a way. My favorite of the contents of the small chest was an oval vase I had found in a raid wagon. (Next best thing to a gift registry ... just Tuchuk style.) It was an ornately designed pottery piece with branches of green swirling around it’s outside and at the very end perched two white doves. It is not the finery others would offer, but this was something I wanted her to have. It had meaning to me.

I sat it between the young woman and I and began to fill it with itty bitty tush balms, teas that would soothe a new mother’s frazzled nerves and scented soaps that seemed to revive the senses. Zarna had grown quiet running her hand over the small carvings of the doves. She was humming a pretty little lullaby to herself.