Red and White

I stayed far too long among the inner fires so that the return to my wagons was a weary climb just to make it up the platform. It seemed as if I could barely hold my eyes open yet when I drew my fur up around me, sleep did not lull me away immediately. Small portions of the evening danced in my mind, one at a time giving themselves enough light to make them a little clearer. Sitting up, I added another chip to the brazier and a little herb to soothe the ahns if I were going to be awake.

That was when I felt the canvas around me swirl like it had been caught in the eddy of a storm. Nauseating and dizzying until the sides flared open to become a walled room. I could see myself searching with deep intent through every belonging I had. The topple of chests, pots and trunks left everything exposed … everything even my intimate things, the things women do not wish anyone else to see. I looked for a key, to what I am still not sure but I felt sure that I had had it, I just could not find it now and it held an importance. The feel of wood surrounding me was darkly stained without an encompassing imprisonment.

This was my wagon with the sides simply expanded. I was about to turn back the furs to look beneath only to find a lover … my lover curled upon them as if he was supposed to be there, as if he had always been there. It was quite pleasant without allusion to anything sexual. He was comfort, he was familiarity in an intimate way. His attention was not upon me but deeper into the recess of my wagon. He looked to a young girl, soft in feature, smooth of cheek bared to the waist with a perfection. Her skin was warmed by the fires to a gentle pink. She was too pretty to be beautiful. He looked at her with such longing that it touched my chest and took my breath. There was no jealousy, only a yearning that he should have her, should be able to reach out and touch her and she would become part of him. I knew she was happiness. I knew her existence was brief. I knew that time was fleeting even as my dream was dimming in upon itself.

I felt the tears flow as if they were my own. They were peace, they were happiness, they were sorrow and they were pain. I knew I could not intrude. I knew I could not interfere but still I found myself beside Grandmother’s fires with a drum in my lap. I was painting one side of it red and the other white. Quickly I smeared the colors together but it only made the hues combine to a delicate shade of pink, the same as the girl of my dream’s skin. I closed my eyes and breathed a deep breath.

What had I done?