The Weaver
Tuchuk women, unveiled, in their long leather dresses, long hair bound in braids, tended cooking pots hung on tem-wood tripods over dung fires. These women were unscarred, but like the bosk themselves, each wore a nose ring. That of the animals' is heavy and of gold, that of the women also of gold, but tiny and fine, not unlike the wedding rings of my old world. (Nomads of Gor)
"Do you ever smile, Aiyana?"
"Yes." Her expression was fairly serious as she looked back at me.
Grinding the heel of my boot into the kaiila's flank, he charged ahead with the swift tug of his reign... round and round those gathered at the First Fires, before he charged dead on for the Weaver. Within horts, I pulled on his reign and stopped him... moments before the Weaver's heart stopped beating. She had froze. And dropped her water cup to the ground, which was promptly buried under a layer of dust and small stones.
On the other side of the First Wagon camp, there arose a small altercation of sorts, one in which the Bead Maker was denying something. Denying any interest in a Salt Hunter whom I'd never met. And yet the frozen expression on the Weaver's face had managed to hold my interest. It was then that I finally dismounted Necessity and tethered him nearby.
When I returned to the fire again, I seated myself right beside her. "You left me a gift in front of my wagon." Because she had. No sense asking her and being redundant.
"Yes, I did."
"Why?" I asked her, though not in a berating way. Just simple curiosity. I assumed it was an olive branch of sorts. Either way, she more or less confirmed my assumption.
"Can you cook, Aiyana?"
"Yes." She looked at me kinda funny for a moment.
"I have this new cooking pot." Would she realize I was trying to ask her to cook something in it for me? It is a woman's thing afterall... the cooking pot.
