Jesse's Journal

[Jess'e]

Tonight it is quiet, so I shall attempt to put down some thoughts in this handsome notebook that Ba’Rat gifted me at the start of our journey. That was three days ago, and oh how I am missing the sweet comfort of our home back in the city. Of course, I don’t say anything to him about my discomfort, for I know this journey will be much harder on him than on me. But as always, he presents himself to the rest of the caravan as a man made of Isurian steel, and truly he is a magnificent testament to the enduring strength of his House. I know, though, that despite the hardships of travel across this vast sea of waving grass, he is happy – very happy. This commission from his family is quite an honor, and I’m very proud of him. He deserves to be in a exalted position and revered for the amazing man that he is. The things I could say about him – but I am forbidden, by his own lips. Too much talk is never a wise thing, he has counseled me many times. I am here to listen, and remember, not to speak. In the main, this trip has not been so very bad. I just regret the inability to draw my beloved his perfumed baths in his own personal tub of cedar lined teak. Also, he forgoes any make up, but I find him as incredibly handsome as ever he was – and the ruggedness of his look now I find quite…alluring. My heart melts whenever I look upon him, and even now, despite the crowded circumstances of traveling with many others, he has not hesitated to demonstrate his usual affection for me – for which I am eternally grateful. He has told me to walk carefully amongst the men of the caravan, for fear that one might become too bold. But I think all of them would not dare to touch me, for fear of my master – who can glare with quite the fiercest of countenances, like a mighty eagle of the desert. Which reminds me, I did make the acquaintance of one today who was not a guard but a fellow traveler, and I must admit, he caught my eye most easily. It was a bit embarrassing – I think he saw me looking at him, and I had to turn away quickly to pretend like I was not. We seem close in age. Of course my beloved would be most unhappy to know this – he allows me the company of others at his own choosing, not mine. Still, this other seemed…so…vibrant – like a man who had not a care and who was seeing things he truly wished to see – so unlike most of the people I have met over the years in the great city. He seemed…like an open book, with a face that held few secrets. How odd. When I turned back to sneak another look at him, I was surprised to see him returning my gaze, so I nodded politely and said only, “Hello,” before I hurried away. Was that wrong of me? To speak? And then to leave? I’m not entirely sure how such things go, for in Ahnatep I rarely had time to chat with anyone, other than those my master wished me to speak to. This caravan life, though, it’s very different. Much more…open…and freewheeling. I think I might come to like it. I had better, or the weeks ahead will be long ones indeed.

[Jess'e]

The seventh day of our journey I have only time for a very quick entry, but I wanted to capture this now. Before my will to put it in writing fails me. The traveler that I mentioned a few days ago? He is Benshira, which is irrelevant to this issue, but oddly…pleasing, for a reason I can’t really pin point. He was at the stream this evening, watering his mount, as I took my master’s horse to also drink its fill. Once again, it seemed we looked at each other at the same moment, and I can’t describe how it made me feel. I’m glad that Ba’rat takes little interest in what I write on these blank pages. He has always found it a bit amusing to think that I care to preserve my thoughts. I know he’s right – I’m only a slave and really should not be so pretentious. But it helps me, to capture some thought or idea…or memory. When I see the ink flow onto the page, it’s like it becomes inked onto my heart as well, like some tattoo that only I can see. Anyway, I don’t know why the Benshira cared to speak to me, but he did, and I found it a bit hard to answer him. It was an odd feeling – odd…but very pleasant. He spoke to me first in his own tongue – my mother’s tongue, though she never taught it to me? What use would Shiber be to me? But from him, it sounded…like a song. And then guess what? He actually did sing! Not at the stream, of course. But just now – after we ate and some were sitting around the cook fire still. He sang, in his language – our language, in some ways, and – I swear, it was so strange, but I swear…he was singing to me! At least, that’s how it seemed. I’m probably wrong though. But it’s nice to imagine that he was. In a few minutes when I go to sleep, I’ll close my eyes and pretend that he is singing to me. His voice is like the gift of Rhaus himself.