W/we are, as a culture and a family, tough...
a minior thing like the room being down should not stop U/us just slow U/us down..
So with this in mind ( and tongue only part way in cheek).. he makes this thread.
.he remembers back before the internet.. when there was only PBM..so here he
starts a thread, for T/those that cannot long bear the absence from Camp
dakota{property of Tira}thrall, Is at his Mistress Wagon. i wake, t
he air refreshingly cool, the light splashing around the leather covers
of the arrow slits..i roll to my feel,, feeling a bit foolish.. remembering
that when i went to sleep.. i had only gotten one boot off, before dreams
washed me away to darkness..a lopsided grin, splits my face.. as i locate
my boot and jam in on.. then go to the slits.. throwing back the covers
and letting the bright, light and clean air into the wagon.. running fingers t
hru my mane of dark hair.. i comb the unruly locks into place and leave the wagon.
dakota{property of Tira}thrall, Is in the Main area, Outside, the familiar smells
and sounds of camp wash over me like an incoming tide.. the pungent and
sharp smell, not at all unpleasant, of burning bosk dung.. the mouth watering
aroma of cooking bosk and vulo eggs..the sounds of animals.. bells of kajira
and the almost musical chimes of leg shackled thralls..yells, shouts, laughter,
commands, and a hand of hand of hands of other sounds and smells..
that strike me as powerfully as the blazing sun.. that makes me shade
my dark eyes..with a scarred, bronze hand.. i go do the wagon's steps
and set to work
dakota{property of Tira}thrall, is at the animal pens..i pass some thralls,
undergoing fight training.. my experienced eyes note the misplaced stance
of one.. and the improper breathing of another.. as he throws a thunderous,
but wide an wild punch.. without my thinking.. my hands curl into maul like
fists.. i become aware of them..and unclench my fists.. hurrying my pace to
the pens. leaving the fighting thralls and my memories behind..One pen is
emptied of bosk, for cleaning..grabbing a rake and a shovel.. i slip thru
the fence, made of broken wagon parts.. and start to work..
dakota{property of Tira}thrall, is at the animal pens..i rake the dung,
some of it still steaming.into piles, along with the old and dirty straw..
and start shoveling them into the wheel barrels that a gang of thralls
roll near the permiter of the fence..which when they are full.. are
wheeled away to have the dung removed to dry..the day is still cool..
i remove my vest..leaving my self clad in leather pants and stout black boots..
i work quickly.. enjoying the raspy sound of the rake and the solid sound of
the shovel as it bites into the piles.. while a cool and grass sweet, plains
wind, caresses my sun toned skin.
dakota{property of Tira}thrall ,is at the animal pens..once the pen is mucked
out.. i turn the rake over.. letting it end curled blades face the azure and
cloudless sky.. pulling the rake towards me.. smoothing out the ground.. pausing..
when needed.. to use the shovel. to fill in and holes made by the pawing bosk and
to erase the tracks and worn down spots.. leveling the ground so that no bosk
might be endangered from a hole or un even spot..this work goes quickly..
and the thralls that took away the muck.. now bring loads of grain water., and hay.
dakota{property of Tira}thrall, some clean out the watering troughs. how DO
they get so dirty i wonder ?,, and after i have treated the ground.. i join in with t
he others. laying new bedding, and setting up the grain and the straw for feed..
making certain not to bunch stuff up so that the bosks. when they feed.. will crowd
and injure each other..before i leave the pen.. i circle it's insides.. checking and
testing the fence for any weakness. finding none, return rake and shovel..
and slip between the rails..out of the pen.. srung into my kes andto find other things to do
he invites All and all to make use of this thread as T/they will
