"He can catch the wind.."

I chased the wind tonight. I chase it across the open plains until I lay breathless in the tall grass staring up at the open sky with only the light of the moons and stars to guide me back to the open arms of the harigga.

"Slippery sunnuva'..." I said to sky as I felt a breeze blow through the grass and across the sculpted lines of my scarred cheeks.

"I almost caught you."

The wind blew again. Harder than the breeze that had blown before. I could feel it laughing at me. It wasn't the sort of laugh that would raise a man's ire, but it was the sort of laughter that offered a playful challenge, as if to say, "You will catch me if I wish to be caught and not a moment before...but thanks for playing." I had a response, but I am superstitious, and know better than to offer an open challenge to the wind. That is how wagons are blown over and dust storms are born and I would not be responsible for any bad mojo to befall the tribe with a move so close at hand.

Somewhere in the distance I could hear the sleens growling in the not so distance. They were released and I knew that they would have my scent before long. So I said a prayer, eased onto my feet and then sprinted across the plains back toward the harigga making it a point to run within the light moons so not to startle a outrider or hunting sleen as I tore through painstakingly close to the herds and when I was in the safety of the wagon rows I paused to put my hands on my knees and breathe as deeply as I possibly could to catch my breath. On the back of my hand I wiped the sweat from my brow and then swept the hair from my face before heading back toward the Ubar's fire where his sleeping wagon was resting.

For ahns I tossed. For several more I turned. Where was a fat bottomed camp slut when you needed one? I emerged from my wagon somewhat irritated and in need of a good nights sleep when I noted that one side of my wagon which would have usually been facing Sayjax's branding wagon was naked and without paint. Now I am a scarrer, but deep down every scarrer is an artist at heart, so please do not think it odd that I suddenly felt compelled to use this naked canvas and create something that wouldn't look so drab.

What paints I didn't already I have I stole from outside sources. Yes, if you must be so fucking nosey, all the paint I stole was returned...just a little bit lighter. What began as something to do until I was tired became a vendetta. I painted vigorously and with reckless abandoned. I painted like a man possessed and as the sun began to rise and finished up the last of it I felt spent...completely drained, and crumpled to the grass next to the rear wagon wheel.

When I awoke...the Spirit Rider was looking back at me and only he could catch the wind.