Forever

Once, I linked the word with eternity, naïve on how it’s often used, putting too much emphasis on its definition. There is no such thing as forever, because though we may not like it, everything comes to an end.

I have come to ends, little deaths and transitions. I have been lost and found and lost again, many times in the cycle of life. I have wept and rejoiced and pondered endless possibilities, searched for dreams and known happiness.

I am not afraid of the future and what she might hold for me. Once, I would have been, but now, I embrace it. There will be new paths to choose from and new adventures to immerse myself in, because the only forever there will ever be, is me.

Truth Negative

I was not unhappy, but perhaps I should have been. He wants a child. Once, I would have wanted that too, but so many things have changed and that is simply no longer something I long for, and when the physician confirmed that I was not, I could feel August slipping further away. Once, he said, he would have never been wrong about such a thing. Its not him. It’s me. It’s always been me.

Had I been with child, there would have been a paternity test. If the child had not been his, he would have ridded us of it, that he had promised and Kings help me, I don’t know if I could have complied. Yes, I was relieved that no choice need be made.

I am trying to understand what he is going through They pain he must be feeling, and even the loneliness, though I have tried to be there for him. The fact is, no once can understand. I certainly can’t, and as much as I do not want it to, I feel the wedge widening, the gulf between us expanding, and the bridge beneath us collapsing. He told me to go back to AR, that surely I could find a caravan which would accept me. No doubt, I could have, had that been the path I wanted to follow. It was not.

I am determined to follow him, to help him, to be there for him, even in those times he does not need me. Times which are becoming more frequent.

Sardar Faire

The Sardar Faire. A meeting of people converging at the great mountains. A gathering that many look forward to every year. For some, it is a place where stories can be traded, as well as goods, where men can attest to their bravery in the arena, where women can mingle and matches can be made. Everyone must go, at least once, to pay homage to those of our creation. Families look forward to it with benign excitement, but I see it as a Carnival of Dread.

Faires and I have never gotten along well. The last time I was at one, my child was taken from me and I left to contemplate my misery as nothing more than a shell of a woman. Now, I was going back. Perhaps this one would be better. I always say that.

We stopped in Point Alfred, and that is where Silas parted ways with us. I had grown to like him, to trust him, to look up to him, and I was sorry to see him go, but he too had a family and was desperate to see them. I would miss him.

August bought us a wagon and two bosks. It should have only taken us three days, but on the third day one of the wheels got stuck and we were forced to stop. By evening, a heavy layer of snow had fallen and travel was quite impossible. I didn’t mind. I was not unhappy that we would be late.

I had made stew. Simple, hot, filling and bland, but he didn’t complain. August seldom complains about my cooking skills, or lack there of. His mind was elsewhere, and before he even took the first bite, I was to know exactly where. "Are you.. pregnant."

There is not always a lot of conversation between us, but neither was there often an uncomfortable silence. This, however, was not one of those times. There was a possibility. I was trying to mentally calculate when I had had slave wine. So much had taken place in the last several months that I had not given it much thought.

He stepped towards me, his hands fisting the heavy brocade of winter robe, unfastening the hooks that held the edges together with deft authority, then sliding the material over my shoulders, revealing the shift beneath. He leaned in and nipped at my lip, then drew back, leaving just a breath of space between us, before he pressed me against the edge of the table, tilting my chin upwards, forcing me to drink from the vial. I knew immediately what it was. Breeding wine. If I wasn’t, it was his intention that I soon would be.

Sex is never a delicate matter between us. It does not hold vibrations of romanticism. It is base, bestial and purely instinct. He took me not unlike the mating of animals, with the rawness of need, unhinged by lust, and I did not want to be parted from him. Not by way of flesh, or company, and while nights were filled with wild abandon, my days were filled with lessons.

August cares for me, I have no doubt of that. He is presumptuous, possessive, protective, but I’m not sure I can acquaint those emotions with love. It’s much more base and animalistic than that. I think what he feels for me is primal, perhaps more than just an urge to sate a need, but how much more I do not know.

When he spoke again, I froze. I could feel the blood in my veins turning to ice and my flesh go clammy. Had I taken slave wine before Tukuli. I had not. How long before that? I wasn’t sure. Before we reached the mamba camp, certainly, but not since, and although there would be no repercussions for me because of him, but if our time.. together had produced offspring, he would dispose of it. I shuddered. And if I was ever unfaithful to him, he would dispose of .. me.