Ka’Za’Nara was born of a Tuchuk woman and a man who made the Wagons his home, Ara of the North. She is a young woman in the first flush of youth, but she has an old soul and has many memories she cannot give place to here. Sometimes, though, they come to haunt her dreams, darkly shaded mists to plague her sense of well-being, unbidden, but making her who she is today. Many seasons before, a young man, of the Caste of Scribes, son to a chief scribe for the City of Laura, hungered for more than the mundane existence he saw his father and siblings embark on. Ara was the youngest of 3. His mother was of the North, and a fierce Torvaldsland woman she was. She ran the steading of her man, the Scribe, Arsen, with an iron hand. Aram always preferred to be outdoors and with the animals, the sleen preferably, rather than working at his craft. Just before reaching his 22 birthday and the resulting pilgrimage to Sarder, prior to his 25th to conform to the customs of his father, he left his home, and made his way Tun (southeast) to the Sardar Mountains. Once the obligatory pilgrimage was done, he continued Vask (south), finally making his way to the land of the Wagon People. There he met a brash young warrior/budding haruspex, named Vasile, and after an almost lethal skirmish, they held grass and dirt together, and Ara was invited to stay. Vasile had a sister; named Viorela. She was raised to be a stake in the Love Wars, and so had been granted many freedoms most young Tuchuk girls did not see. Ara found the girl, and her temper and spirit, irresistible. To say that the affection was NOT returned, would be mild. Viorela loathed the sight of the young man. He worked hard to earn his courage scar, and he and Vasile grew closer than brothers. The En’Kara that Viorela stood stake in the Wars, she stood third, and was appalled to find out that Ara, the brash young man who had shown an amazing affinity for the sleen and had been inducted into the Clan of Sleen Handlers was to stand her champion. She almost threw herself from the stake. He smiled at her from his kaiila and promised her he would not lose, but that his prize would be her, as slave or as his woman. He would allow her to choose. Needless to say, for probably the first time in her young life, Viorela was speechless. The fight was long and hard. It was a spar to be spoken of during the long nights of Se’var when the winds from Tar Sarder Var (north) blew fiercely. Finally, bloody and grinning, Ara made his way to the stake. “Choose,” was all he said to the young, now wide-eyed woman. Vasile was chortling, He’d teased his sister through most of the spar. She spat at her brother and with as much good grace as she could show, (and a healthy newfound respect for the blonde man) announced she was no man’s slave. He laughed and said “Then Vi, you are my woman.” And simply hauled her to the kaiila’s back. Their union was tempestuous at times, and through it, they developed a deep love for the other. Viorela took her mother’s Clan of Yearkeepers, and her brother was worked until he was one of the haruspex for the People. Ara worked at his sleen, eventually developing a line of sleen that has become famous across the land, almost rivaling Thurnus of Tabuk’s Ford in his reputation of good tracking sleen. He had bred the prairie sleen to the gray sleen and had developed a singularly beautiful as well as good tempered tracker, who was intensely loyal to it’s owner. They had two children that lived, having lost four, one, a son lost in an accident while learning to wield a quiva, and ride a kaiila, and three to miscarriage. The two that lived were named Aram and Ka’Za’Nara. ‘Nara was raised to stand stake as her mother had been, but with FAR less permissiveness than her mother had seen. Many seasons passed. And one day out on a tumit hunt with His son, Aram, and his brother, Vasile, Ara was caught by the deadly beak of the tumit He’d bola’d. It ripped through vital organs with more intensity than the sharpest blade. At his pyre, his deeds were sung. It was an intently emotional time. His prize sleen, Argus, had to be killed. Viorela worked the pelt of the deep charcoal beast into a beautiful pelt. She arranged with her brother, Vasile, to send Ka’Za’Nara to her father’s people in Laura, with the pelt as a gift, to inform them of their son’s death. They had kept in contact over the seasons, but Ara had never returned to the place of his birth. Ka’Za’Nara was excited at the prospect, but less than happy that her cousins, Oren and Quazar, were to accompany her. She was given the pelt and appropriate clothing to wear when they traveled. She, being as hardheaded as ever her mother was in her youth, refused outright, once she was in the care of her cousins and a small contingent of their men. She was Tuchuk and would dress as such. Worse, she was raised with the semi-leniency of being encouraged to be high-spirited and she loved to wear a sleeveless leather jerkin and skirt cut high enough on lithe thigh she could ride her kaiilla easily astride. Her nose proudly displayed the golden ring of her people. They took ship at Kargash, after only a few pasangs ride, as the People moved close to the coast during their annual migrations. From Kargash, They arrived in Port Kar, scurrilous Port Kar. Quazar had tried bullying her and had wound up almost begging her to dress in the clothes of a city woman.. or at least one of the long fringed leather dresses of the People before they disembarked. She blithely refused. She had never been out of the Wagons.. and… she intended to enjoy herself. Her bold verdant gaze and nubile figure clothed in the skimpy riding clothes caught the eye of a pirate, as they made their way from one ship to the next, the one that would carry them to the mouth of the Laurius River, and then on to Laura. Later, she would remember the moment their eyes met and his seemed to bore into hers as he boldly moved past her in the narrow walkway leading to the docks. The journey to Laura was uneventful, and Ka’Za’Nara teased both Quazar and Oren for being so worried. She’d met her grandparents, and as a whole, learned much of her father’s people during the visit. The trip back, however, was not so uneventful. While the ship was still in open water, and almost back to Port Kar, they were overrun by a round ship painted green to blend in with Thassa’s enigmatic hue. The pirate had both met with luck and had planned well. He couldn’t get that verdant gaze out of his mind. Thus, he decided he wanted the one that had stared so boldly at Him. And so, He plotted and planned and waited. The Sailors fought long and hard but in the end were no match for the pirates seeking booty. The ship was ravaged and had begun to sink. The men and her cousins had raised a valiant effort in protecting her. To her everlasting sorrow and shame she watched them die. She was clinging to some flotsam when the pirate hauled her, dripping, spluttering and shivering from Thassa’s hospitality into his ship. She was not stripped, but the leather of her skirt was cut off to reveal long lithe legs that seemed to go on forever; the front of the jerkin cut open to barely hide luscious globes of sweet flesh, and the long coil of her tight braid undone to allow ebon locks with a hint of fire in their sheen to cascade down her back to below her hips. She still had the look of a girl of the wagons, almost clad kajira. It didn’t matter what they did to her. The deaths of her cousins and the men of the ship left her numb, in shock, and frozen inside. She neither thought nor felt. She was led on a leash thru the smelly city, to a tavern by the docks. She cannot remember much of that walk, except the sight of sailors sporting with slaves: using the slave as bait for the sea sleen .. The girls were hung by their collars and dangled over the pier wall as the sea sleen rose from the water to snap angrily at their heels. The screams still linger in her mind some nights when sleep hides from her. Inside the tavern, the pirate laughed and boasted about the bounty he had won. He shoved her to the center of the room, where lit by the lamps for the dance pit, he displayed His booty. She was barely aware of her surroundings. A man, clad in the leather of the People watched silently as the pirate boasted. She never did know what he said to the pirate, but after a brief, quiet conversation, she was unbound and sent to kneel before the man in leather. Once she focused and actually SAW him, feelings returned to her in a rush. She recognized him as a man of the People and her spine stiffened and refusal and defiance played on her lips and started in her voice. Then, she realized that he was of the clan of her father, and had acted as surrogate uncle to her. His scarred face was implacable as he gazed at her for an ihn then tossed a boskhide at her and told her to cover up. She quickly complied, defiance dissolving at the look in his eye, as well as a feeling of relief. He was not an easy man, but she knew and trusted him. He took her home and a battle of wills ensued between her and her brother. That En’kara, she stood, as had her mother before her in the Love Wars. She stood third stake. The champion had his eye set on the lovely Turian bit of flesh she stood opposite. The happy ending of her mother was not to be hers. When her champion won, he simply left her on the stake and rode to collect his prize. After she was released from the Sstake, she found an old leather dress in one of the supply wagons, and dressed, slowly, stiffly wooden. Ka’Za’Nara felt her heart was frozen, cold, unfeeling. It showed in the dead bruised look in her eyes. She had no plans, knew not what to do or where she could go, only that she could not stay in this camp where her disgrace and shame was so openly discussed and chortled over. Aram understood how she felt, and having just taken a mate, himself, did not want the burden of a sister along with a woman and several slaves. Thus he detailed an idea to her…He would send her with wagons, her 25 bosk, along with two sleen pups. Aram’s idea was for her to take up the clan work of her father, and help him...with a little friendly competition…in the continuation of the line of sleen their father had started. She agreed and she immediately named the female, a sleek, tawny gold, Arpi and the boy, a reverse blue brindle, Se’vak. Arpi attached herself to her mistress and rarely allowed her out of her sight. Soon two more sleen came: Deva and Mynn. Deva was carrying pups to be born in En’Kara. Thus, she travelled with the two men who had saved her in Port Kar. They had sworn blood oaths to both her brother and father before him to keep her safe. She was both assured and irritated by their presence: the fierce scarring lined their weathered faces in a frightening display to any who could not read the striking chevrons. In fact, a frightening display even if one could read them. As always, they were armed in the manner of plainsmen: lance, helm, lacquered bosk leather shield, and, though it was a rarity on the plains; Each was proficient with the short sword. Each had two sleen knives on his person, as both were of the Clan of Sleen Handlers and they used them as regularly as a seamstress would ply her needle in the course of their clanwork. Of course, Both were adept at the powerful horn bow of the People but these had been left, along with the rectangular quiver of arrows, and the set of matching quivas, the seven knives almost legendary for their weight and balance, on the kaiilla. These men had long ago mastered the use of the lance, quiva and bow. If they had not, they would not have names, let alone the fierce marks of courage, valor and honor etched permanently into their grizzled faces. Ka'Za'Nara, herself, also carried two sleen knives. Their handles made up part of the intricate silver studded design in the ebony leather of her boots. Thus, they slid neatly into hidden sheaths. She also had a dagger hidden within the sleek black leather of the midnight-hued leather riding dress she wore. She had carried it since she was a young girl. Being a woman of the plains, she disdained anything a city woman might consider for protection, thus, there were no poisoned pins in the tightly woven, fist-thick chestnut braid that hung to the vicinity of her knees. Thus she arrived at Harrigga, and set up a already prospering sleen tracking service.