Ti
Even in the wagon, the air was cool last night. He drew me to him using my
warmth against the chill. I lay for a time with my head against his belly. I
could feel his scar against my cheek. I remember as if yesterday when it
happened. Most often I do not like to think about it.
It was during a period of time when I did not see him too much around Samsara.
He kept an apartment in the city and stayed there frequently. I sat in the
gardens one evening when suddenly it seemed everyone was yelling that there had
been a death match and Master ... it was not known if he would live.
His wounds were extensive, going beyond the deep belly wound, though that is the
one that was expected to kill him.
I ran and hid so no one would know how panicked I felt at the thought that he
could die. Entering the city where the man who inflicted these wounds is now
Ubar frightened me, though I hid those fears behind an insolent tilt to my chin
and an exaggerated sway of my hips. His disguise was good and disconcertingly
changed his appearance. Yet until we left the city, I thought at any time we
would heard the words, "Poet, it has been a long time."