|
lissa's gift of love to her homestone
This slave girl was given the task of expressing her love for the city and celebrating its value to her by using one of many skills taught her as a red silk slave. With much soul searching and loving thoughts, the girl decided she could offer a gift of herself, her skills, and devotion. The task has taken time to complete as a slave cannot simply go out and buy items. A slave leads a meager life. Possessions are few, yet life is rich in the service one can offer if they look within. lissa burns with desire to give something back to the city that has sheltered and nurtured her for many months.
The rich harvest of the orchard and its many different fruits yielded only one portion of this recipe. lissa gathered fruits with care, selecting a sampling of every variety, ta-grapes, plums, tospit, cherries, apricots, larma, peaches, and ram-berries. Each single piece chosen for its perfection, washed meticulously, sectioned evenly into small portions, and laid upon a clean repcloth to dry in the warm rays of the sun.
Sa-tarna, gleaned from the meadow until there was enough to winnow out the wheat from the chaff, the wind carrying away the unneeded portion to feed the many small inhabitants of the fields, bird, rodent, and reptile. The finest grains are pounded into flour. lissa worked with the heavy mortar, arms aching while her spirit sang out her joy and preparing her offering. The wheat was ground to fine flour and stored away in a basket till all was in readiness.
The bosk, kept in the city pens behind the open_market, gave of her rich milk as if she knew it was part of a larger plan. lissa combs out the shaggy fur and polishes hooves and horns and whispers a soft, thank you into the bosks ear, before she leaves the pen. She takes a portion of the milk and churns till she has creamy yellow butter and keeps part as cream for her recipe.
Memory of the gentle coos of the vulo still whisper in the slave girls ears as she gathered eggs from the coop behind the tavern, the laughter from within the establishment carrying out and over the cylinders of the city. The kettle girl slips away again on her journey. The sounds of musicians striking up a sensual tune create a clear image of a beautiful dancing slave swaying and spinning for the patrons.
In the cool of the morning, lissa searches out a particular hollow tree in the forest. Her dew covered feet slipping noiselessly along the path as she watches for wild animals or marauders that often take refuge in the dense woods. She finds the secret spot and peeks into the dark hole. Tentative fingers reach in and scoop out a soft, gooey honeycomb. A quick flick of the wrist shakes off the few sleepy bees. The honey-filled comb plops with a squish to the bottom of the wide-mouthed jar.
With all ingredients gathered together, the city owned slave in scarlet begins her creation during the early morning hours. She creeps into the empty Inn and takes over the servery. As a careful cook slave should, she checks and double checks her ingredients then starts the fire beneath the stone oven, adding dried wood till the embers give off a white hot flame to heat the stones of the cooking chamber. The girl finds a large wooden bowl and fills it with five double hands full of the flour. Salt, we must have salt in the mix, she murmurs to the empty room. A measure of yellow salt, not quite enough to fill the well of her palm looks like enough. A pinch of white sugar, sweetens the mix. She runs her fingers through the dry ingredients to blend them well, the silken feel of the flour so familiar to her hands. Two vulo eggs, a mug of bosk milk, a dollop of freshly churned butter follows. Squish, squish, squeeze, squeeze, she works the blend with long delicate fingers. A little more milk and tiny bit water make the mixture start to take on the desired texture. A sprinkle of flour now and then, and the mix starts to form a ball in the bottom of the bowl. lissa smiles as she works the dough. Her timing is well practiced and she seems to fly though the work yet, taking time as if is the only task before her to do. She greases another clean bowl and rolls the dough ball over once before covering it with a clean repcloth and leaving it to rise near the warmth of the oven.
The dried sections of fruit lay nearby in a basket, the honeycomb in the jar beside basket, and a plan neatly formed in the loving heart of a slave girl comes to life little by little. The honeycomb is lifted and rolled into another repcloth and wringed till the golden liquid oozes through the pores of the cloth and into a shallow bowl. The dried fruit is divided into two portions. One left plain, the second portion rolled one by one into the sweetness of the honey and lain out on a platter for later. A quick peek into the bowl by the oven and a satisfied nod of the girls head indicates the dough has risen and is ready to be worked a second time.
lissa scoops up a handful of flour and dusts the counter top before rolling the dough from the bowl. The plain portion of the dried fruit is added to the dough and worked until it is evenly distributed through the mix. The fruits many and varied seeming to represent the different peoples, both Free and slave, that populate the wonderful city we inhabit. The slave cook uses the side of her hand to cut the ball into three equal portions, for the past, present, and future of Baren Touhk. Each piece is rolled into a long rope then woven together into a braid.
The weaving itself a symbol of the closeness of the citizenry when it comes to forming a community. The braided dough is worked carefully and pressed and patted into a circle without end. The circle showing the love that binds all to the city. The honeyed fruit is nestled within the nooks of the woven braid and dotted along the outer curves, the variety, color, and sweetness, each unique to itself, yet mixed and intermingled to create the diversity of a city grown out of a wilderness and populated with those that sought shelter and a homestone to call their own.
A mixture of egg white and water is brushed over the special Sa-tarna so that once it is cooked; it will shine like a gem, our city, nestled in the protective arm of Kamba Bay. The loaf is left to rise once again before being put into the oven where it will undergo a transformation. The warmth of the oven like the life giving Lar-Torvis that shines upon is all will forever bond the mixture, drawn from all parts of the city, into one simple gift. A gift of love and devotion from one that owns nothing but gives all she is to the city that owns her.
An ahn later, lissa pulls the special bread from the oven and places it on a silver platter and leaves it on a low table in the middle of the Inn for all to partake, as they will. Extra bowls of honey and fresh butter rest nearby along with small plates and napkins. It is this girls prayers that all share in her offering and enjoy.
|
