So, laying awake in his own hut, the desert breeze whipping about outside and ruffling the folds of the tent, Robald lay with his woman. Having just made love, Robald was wrapped in his bedroll--his "woman" asleep beside him, now a true maiden. Cupping the bulge of her breast, he was walking the long, dark halls of thought. The following day when he would be stranded by the shaman, and would have to survive alone--which he could do, he had no doubt--he would leave his family and friends behind forever, to find his true father. Having thought it through, he was determined to do so.
Rolling over, on top of his lady, awakening her, they made sweet love for the last time, until the sun was rising--peeking its bright head up over the low horizon. She ran her fingers along his young flesh, and he caressed her. The morn was silent, and all could hear them that early hour, making love.
As the sun arose, his woman once more asleep and with his child, Robald, son of Rosan the Great Warrior, gathered his belongings, and trekked out into the spanning desert without the shaman to strand him--
--in search of his father...
***
And now, laying in his tent, fifteen years later--still having not found his father (and on the brink of giving up)--Robald lay in the deep darkness of the night, remembering the soft touch of Malinda, his woman, whom surely had given birth to his child by now--and, possibly, found another man and warrior to lay with. He remembered her soft touch, and how her lips tasted and felt against his own. The breeze blew outside, and he felt the strangest sensation of deja vu. The night played out, and gradually he fell into sleep's clutches... her soft fingers on his skin...
***
High up in the Imperial Tower, there sat the High Lord of the east. He had ridden in the royal carriage, driven by his servants, from the Outlook upon the butte far in the deserts, and to his castle high above the clouds.
Now, sitting upon his cushioned throne, which rotated any which way he wished, when he altered his position and turned, he looked out upon the night, through the "clear-see-windows." He watched as his forces of soldiers and warriors marched along the old streets and crumbled "high-way-up" roads. He watched as those sentenced to death--most likely for trial of escape or treason, or both--were either beheaded, banged at with the strange Old Ones' weapons that went Bang!, or
Rolling over, on top of his lady, awakening her, they made sweet love for the last time, until the sun was rising--peeking its bright head up over the low horizon. She ran her fingers along his young flesh, and he caressed her. The morn was silent, and all could hear them that early hour, making love.
As the sun arose, his woman once more asleep and with his child, Robald, son of Rosan the Great Warrior, gathered his belongings, and trekked out into the spanning desert without the shaman to strand him--
--in search of his father...
***
And now, laying in his tent, fifteen years later--still having not found his father (and on the brink of giving up)--Robald lay in the deep darkness of the night, remembering the soft touch of Malinda, his woman, whom surely had given birth to his child by now--and, possibly, found another man and warrior to lay with. He remembered her soft touch, and how her lips tasted and felt against his own. The breeze blew outside, and he felt the strangest sensation of deja vu. The night played out, and gradually he fell into sleep's clutches... her soft fingers on his skin...
***
High up in the Imperial Tower, there sat the High Lord of the east. He had ridden in the royal carriage, driven by his servants, from the Outlook upon the butte far in the deserts, and to his castle high above the clouds.
Now, sitting upon his cushioned throne, which rotated any which way he wished, when he altered his position and turned, he looked out upon the night, through the "clear-see-windows." He watched as his forces of soldiers and warriors marched along the old streets and crumbled "high-way-up" roads. He watched as those sentenced to death--most likely for trial of escape or treason, or both--were either beheaded, banged at with the strange Old Ones' weapons that went Bang!, or
