The return to the harigga has been a busy one. I haven't given much time to socializing, other than late at night. Nor given much time to lounging about my fires. I've had too much to do since my arrival. Several of the dozen or so wagons I returned with were laden with goods meant for the tribes.

Silks, jewels, gold, various tools, weapons, exotic pelts of animals, and sacks of smuggled blackwine beans. All these things from the far off cities I traveled to over the course of the 15 years I was abroad. All of this I've been working to distribute, along with other men, among the tribe.

I've also completed the task of gathering up all my wagons once more. Before leaving them, I had left them in the care of various families among the outer wagons. Along with the wagons, I've collected my herd of bosk from those I'd left them with. The work and return to such an old, familiar routine has been enjoyable. Some part of me had feared, foolishly, that I would have forgotten the ways of life on the plains. The ways of the Tuchuks. As I said, it was foolish. After such a long life spent on the plains, I don't ever think I could forget anything about my People.

The dour faces of women, squatting by fires as they tended the cooking pots. The slaves, with their sacks of dried dung, or buckets of water to bring to the herds. The children, running among the wagons and screaming their joy. The scarred colorful faces of the men, riding proudly in their saddles. Lances in their hands as they tended to and safeguarded the bosk. Indeed, it is good to be home once more.