All that matters

Come out, come out wherever you are
So lost in your sea
Give in, give in for my touch
For my taste, for my lust

Ever felt away with me
Just once that all I need
Entwined in finding you one day

Ever felt away without me
My love, it lies so deep
Ever dream of me

Nightwish

When Ragar and Sabra approached Grandmother's wagon, my heart soared right there in my chest. My best friend was alive and safe as was her family. Crooked on the side of her hip was child about 4 months old .. a boy. Had it been that long since I had last seen her? The passage of time raced through my head. It had been almost two envars since Father died, almost an envar and a half since Ragar paid bride price for his woman and now almost half an envar since she had borne his first heir.

I smiled and hugged them all, then of course invited them to our fires for a meal. First son sat on a blanket near the fire with Sabra while she explained they hadn't wanted to impose but they had lost their wagons in the fire. It took a bit of delving to undertsand there was nothing left of their belongings. Ragar like many of the other men had pitched in to help but had injured his bow arm. Not good for a man of the hunters clan. He would heal but for now, they had nothing.

There was no question in my mind that they should make use of my wagon. It took a bit of convincing that it was for the best. They had a family and had a need and this was something I could do for them. I wanted to see them with a canvas over their head and have a chance to continue their lives, their family. I was not going to take no for an answer and if they were going to argue with me, they could deal with Grandmother. That hole card always works.

We lay on the blankets beneath the nightsky, stargazing and just talking among ourselves for half the night. Not about anything inparticular but touching the whole universe in some small way, no blade of grass undisturbed, no stone left cradled in the dirt. To me it was a precious gift Sabra and Ragar gave me, that and another gift of being able to watch them, both, together and with their son.

There was something in the way Ragar watched his mate and First Son that lit his face with contentment and when her eyes met his the connection between them became tangible as if you could have reached out to touch it. He never seemed to be a man that felt intimidated by her in any way even though she was a strong out going woman. To look at her with him, she seemed quiet and giving the way my Mother is.

Ragar was pleased that they never argued. They always agreed because their thoughts were so similar that what one felt so did the other. They gave to each other even in small moments in a way that completed the other like two halves of a whole, not on any even level but on one that was vital for them. If one rose to seek something, they brought to the other. The give and take among them was touching.

When First Son grasp the medalian his Father had given her and bounced it up and down laughing and bubbling things none of us could understand, the whole portrait made me want to jump up right then and there and find Seveya and drag her back demanding she paint this ... paint it on the wagons, paint it on the sky and find a way to say this is beautiful. This is perfect.

I dont want to sound as if I was envious of them in any way. I didnt feel any covet for what they had. It was theirs and it was strong enough and lasting enough to spill over on anyone around them. I think it was like finding a delicate wildflower growing in a barren place. Rare and precious but to pluck it selfishly would be an end. I found myself happy for them in a way I do not have words to describe.

They had lost everything but held dear all that mattered to them .. they had each other.

Sabra wished for me a life like she had, the same happiness that she had found with her mate. Thank you honestly, but no thank you. I had to confide that there was a joy inside that radiated their warmth but this was not what I was looking for, not for my own life. Parts of it yes but not in such pristine sweet perfections, not songs of the singers pretty that takes only the good to shine the lanterns on. I wanted love to be real. To be able to experience the good and the bad, to laugh and to argue, to give and receive ... not always in equal proportions but the ones that work ... to encompass it all and still endure.

And right now I wasn't looking for any of that anyway.

"Love is patient, love is kind, and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."
I Cor XIII:IV-VII