"It"'s journey

"It'" 's journey Part 1

A freak of nature.
Really.
That's what it is.
A larl.
No mane at all.

I'm sure its a larl, I've seen plenty others in the Voltai many times albeit at a safe distance. They've been known to stalk people, after all, and I'm quite certain it was not for an offer to engage in a rousing game of kaissia.
It's entirely possible that because it's such an anomaly it was shunned by its fellow larls and searched out a happier place to live out its days and this was where it ended up. It's on the smallish side, and appears to be fully grown with the longest claws I've ever seen. I have no idea if it's male or female and I'm darn sure not going to check it to find out. It doesn't matter anyway, really.
It likes to lay on a half submerged log in the river which is a tish disconcerting in and of itself. It lazes around all day on that thing when not following me around. Prowls at night. It makes a pleasant enough sounding rumbling noise when its resting and when I give it leftovers from my meals. It does not like peas. At ALL. Nothing is nastier than finding a dried up larl spit smelling pea on my furs. Or in my cup of black wine. The worst is finding one in my bathing tub that I've filled with sweetly scented steaming bath water, bobbing around like a tiny cork. A yuckier moment I cannot conceive and I better not find another one in there or I shall smack It with a rolled up scroll. Right on the tip of its nose.
It is lovely in a sleek sinuous way, I've given it a name. " It" . I sometimes wonder if its named me too. It might be larls do such things. Name humans.
I've not decided if I own it or if it believes it owns me or thinks I own it so it thinks it owns me and the whole ownership thing is just one big gordian knot.
Regardless and respective, it has a peaceful place to stay. Food, water, comfy place to sleep, plenty to hunt which it seems to be reasonably successful at and seems to be in good health so its got the basics covered. So here it will likely stay until it doesn't.

It's journey, Part II

There it was. Just lying there. Discarded. As though left or dropped as some after thought without a care. Laying atop a map. A drawing of the exact route we'd taken. Only two people knew that route and one of us was dead. At the far edge of the map lay It. Twitching its tail. That's when I fainted. Tumbled to the ground in a heap. I have no idea how long I lay there like that, it could have been ihns, it could have been ahns, even hands perhaps but not very likely had it been hands.

I stood up, wobbly to be sure but up I rose. Looking down. Of course I recognized the map. And the rope. That's what had made me faint in the first place. Our travels. From that moment in HIS cottage ?? Where he'd caught me stealing my OWN FOOD ? He'd claimed ownership of all this. The gall of the man ! Who DOES that? And gripped my arm with the speed of a bolt of lightening so tight not even all my twisting and turning could set me free. It would be many hands before I'd know freedom again. Many. With that piece of rope he'd tied me. Around my NECK like I was some wretched slave. Tying me up to a TREE at night, only my toes touching the ground to keep me from choking to death. While HE rode his kailla, and slept all nice and comfy in a nest of furs. I.........had to run ! Along side that damn beastly kailla. That he barely fed me, kept me in water seemed not to trouble him IN THE SLIGHTEST.

After hands and hands we'd come to the river, far from here, clear across the mountains and then beyond the plains. He untied me and gave me a choice. I could turn and go back to all I'd ever known or continue the journey on with him. I took my time to consider, who wouldn't? All those days....all those nights.....his often brusque, sometimes gentle ways. What would anyone ever do, standing there on that dock as the river boat fast approached?

I looked into his eyes and then I knew. So...I let him tie me up again with that rope and stepped into the boat. With him.

We made our way to Fina and into each others lives. I became his free companion, he became mine. Our lives. Our days. Our nights were filled with adventure, love, and laughter.

Until .
The night Bashir decided to pay a visit to Fina to " set things right".
I should have punched him, that pompous buffoon, right in his face.
So hard it would have knocked him straight to the ground. Right onto his fat ass. Then bonked his head with a rolling pin as he rolled like a ball on the marble floor. Out colder than any fish, alive or dead. Then got myself a cup of black wine.
But.
I didn't.
I left
despite Phelan's pleas for me to stay, I was afraid. Afraid Bashir would never let us live in peace. Never has he, not to this very day.
He lives by a singular code. If he can't have me, no one will.
I have worn the heavy cloak of deep regret for my choice for all these years.
No more.

Time passed. It always does. And I gave birth.
To our son. Right here on these lands of mine.
Phelan's son. My son. Just as we'd wanted.
That baby grew up to become a man.
And now both are dead and I am more profoundly alone than ever I have been in a hundred years or more.

These thoughts crashed, a terrible storm tearing and ripping my heart and mind apart, as I leaned to pick up the rope that had once graced my throat.
Oh the memories it held, that seemingly innocuous piece of rope, just as it held me all those years ago. Not the temporary enslavement I'd honored until Phelan removed it. Certainly that was part of it. But also for the life Phelan and I shared. This rough hunk of rope.....was the symbol of that beginning.

I picked up the map. I walked, footfalls silent on the ground until I stood before the cottage, It at my side. I'd thought to burn it to the ground when he died so deep was my grief. I built new gates instead. And named them Phelan's gates.
I stood there looking at the cottage for ahns, map and hunk of rope in my hand. It took just that long for me to dredge up courage. To step onto the porch. Open the door. Walk inside. It looked exactly the same. As though he had been sitting there just yesterday.
Not a sparkle of dust in the late suns rays shining through the window. Not one. I sat myself down on the chair across from " his". Setting the map on the table with the rope. And closed my eyes. The birds still sang, the day still turned to night then to day again.
I rose, finally, and went to the door and looked out at the fields; slowly turning to gaze at the orchards, the beautiful peaks of the Voltai beyond. Everything looked exactly the same.
But...everything is not the same. Phelan is gone. Forever. That's just the way it is. From this place and the planet entire and any other planet man can conceive.

" There is a poem called "Loss" carved into a stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it."

Sometimes...... in my dreams..... I wander. It at my left
in the the City of Dust.
As I wander.... I wonder.......
do they rest side by side
My Companion and our son?

March, 2019.

It returned. With a baby clasped gently in her mighty jaws. And I must say, though my sleek sweet It is a bit...frusty and rumpled, she is still beautiful in my eyes. I've decided to name her baby Fytte. In ancient language, Fytte translates to prophecies. I believe Fytte is the answer to the prophecy of the rope and map I stumbled across. Life itself. One life is forever gone. One is born.
It feels somehow....right. And good. To have a baby around these lands again.

It's journey Part 111

December 2019

It and I continue to roam the Voltai's, when she's not stalking some hapless creature's meat on the hoof, claw or wing. She's calmer than she was when first she arrived. But she still HATES peas.

Occasionally I look at her and ponder how accepting I am of being constantly accompanied by a wild animal that could easily kill me without so much as a second thought. " Meat on the foot" as it were.
Fytte is often gone for days a time and when he does return he's grumpy and growly. Prowls around a lot, making ear splitting noises. He then slams his body down on the ground with an awful thump. It mostly ignores his behavior but occasionally she'll snarl at him right before she smacks him for what I have no idea but at least it brings a level of quiet for a while so its good. It could be she does it because he stinks so much or maybe for his rude practice of backing up to whatever tree might be handy and shooting an alarming amount of urine down the trunk. I mean, if I peed that much? I would be dead. From dehydration. I don't pretend to understand larls, and I really don't think they spend much time pondering me. I'm just their ...." human woman". It's a possessive thing. You have to live it to understand it.

Life goes on much as it always has , autumn has given way, reluctantly, to winter. We've had two blizzards already. Blizzards are dangerous events, if you think about it. If you're caught out in one, its nearly impossible to see to find your way back home. With or without It, I think its the most life threatening all weather events and I doubt she'd let me use her fur for warmth. She's far too independent to ....share and likely wouldn't care. She'd just get all in a huff that I was stupid enough to venture out in it in the first place and stalk off. Leaving me where ever to freeze to death.

Of all the seasons, autumn is the most vain. Brilliant colors, reluctant to get off the stage, to let another season in. Some find autumn their favorite season. Perhaps, because just like autumn, they are intrinsically vain people. I've known a few like that.

It's going to be a long winter. I've plenty of firewood, so I'll stay warm and dry. I hope that where ever Fytte chooses to roam he always finds his way home. I don't know that It feels the same so I won't pretend to speak for her. She's pretty dependable when it comes to voicing her displeasure on just about anything.

My heart doesn't feel so heavy any more..... Time moves on. It's what time does, keeps on moving which, by its very nature, encourages us to do the same. It seems to have a lightness in her steps as well. Of course it could be that's because the snow is hard packed and thus she leaves no prints.