I was up in the darkness, tugging on my boots on the platform when I felt the first droplet against my lips. I started to laugh softly. Who would have known? Well...duh, me! In the delicate sprinkles I started pulling the last of the wooden braces from our wagon wheels with my brother. Grandmother was making us a light meal of boiled vulo meat as we bound the blocks to pegs with leather under the platform in a rack. I was wearing my long cloak under my sleeping gown, I would wash up as we waited for our turn. We had two slaves, Turian girls, my brother called Lika, and Nika. I was helping them get the bosk tethered.
After I washed up, my grandmother oiled my hair braiding it back tightly strips of blue leather bound in the weave. With small jars we went out, me and the girls, painting pictures across the horns and toed hooves. Artist I am not, but we had a good time. The girls took baskets of jerky to help with the other slaves of the back wagons to move along the rolling wheels to offer some meat to those riding who just got off patrol and had not been able to get the hot meal, and baskets of warm bread, the last to be made here on the South. Our wagon was blue, the one me and Grandmother shared. It had white clouds, and deep grey droplets across the spokes of the wheels.
I had Ulita by the wagon. The fun thing about her was.....I was working on my whistling. Once it was coming to our turn to join the ongoing line of the caravan, I lifted to my saddle, with one of my Brothers eldest son's sitting beside my grandmother on a bench driving our wagon, I would start beside them on saddle. North here we come. Looking to the sky as the drops coated my face. I could only smile.
