Chapter 2: Beggarticks on Leggings
This is not my first attempt to record my recollections; rather it is a continuation of an apparently unsuccessful or, at least according to its only reader, insufficient earlier one. So I have been ‘commissioned’ to give a fuller accounting of my story. Perhaps my patron shall now also serve as my muse which would be both appropriate and, under the circumstances of this recollection’s commission, ironically ‘a-musing.’ Hopefully the fee for my recollections shall be worth the effort and the result worthy of my hire. I suppose my first attempt can now be considered as a Prologue of sorts and so I have affixed it as such. It seems foolish to hoe the same row again so I will instead move on to previously unworked soil and continue from where the ‘Prologue’ concludes.
The Prologue presents a straightforward accounting of the report I provided to Hopoyetly. Since my commission specifies that this recollection be written with posterity in mind, I presume it wise to occasionally provide translations or explanations when doing so does not impede the story. In English, Hopoyetly would be ‘chosen’ or ‘the chosen’ though Mvhvlv, ‘teacher of the heavens,’ says the meaning at the first giving of the name was ‘seeker.’ As demonstrated by the prologue, Hopoyetly is more commonly known among the whites as Emperor Brim, and derisively called the same by Mvhvlv. As indicated by the grandiose title, Emperor Brim’s influence extends far and wide particularly among the Lower Creek towns and far surpasses that of any mere chief. This recollection focuses upon my experiences following my report to Emperor Brim for like many of our people I was caught up in the subsequent fire which my report helped to kindle.
Before committing this tale with ink on parchment, while the dipped quill yet hovers over the blank page, the first order of business is: what do I call it? Every story needs a title and every tale needs a name. Because our little village Acauwematli was too small for a roundhouse, as a child I listened to the elders tell the tales of our people around a bonfire. Sometimes they would let us children request a favorite tale. We would shout out, Possum gets his Grin or Heron and Hummingbird Race or Rabbit Wrestles Tie Snake or Contest of Wolf and Rattlesnake. And so the elders would know which tale to tell. I know it is just vain fantasy but I like to imagine children in a roundhouse calling out to the elders to tell my tale – something like, Little Bird and the Great Eagle or Little Bird and the Forked Eye. I can hear Mvhvlv’s chastisement of the pride inherent in such a title. Little Bird, pride is a shadow seen in the slanted light of late afternoon sun, like such a shadow it is insubstantial and larger than the object from which it is cast.
Besides, a title ought to indicate the essence of the story. After much reflection I have chosen a title which if lacking in the memorable is at least poetically obscure, absent of prideful conceit, and conveys the truth of my tale. I was the last tvpalv of Mvhvlv, then a red-stick under Hopoyetly, and now – well, I don’t know what I am now – someone far wiser than I would have to make that determination, but this is my story and the experiences still cling to me like Beggarticks on Leggings.
I left the inner courtyard where we had sat on a bench with our backs against the summer house while we talked. What I began as a terse report, Hopoyetly ended as an interrogation. I suspect neither of us was satisfied with the other or the meeting; I found him rude, calculating, and dismissive and I suspect he found me disrespectful, unforthcoming, and timid if not cowardly. I suppose his attitude towards me a combination of the normal disdain of red-stick, even though his clan is white, for white-stick, even though my clan is red, and Coweta for ‘stinkard’ coupled with a lingering personal antipathy for Mvhvlv. I suppose my reaction to him to be partially a result of my tendency to bristle at the expectation of deference from authority but primarily from the rudeness of my reception.
I had traveled hard and fast from Mvtvlwv, Teacher Town, to Coweta. I had eaten little other than parched corn and jerked venison from my pack. I was tired. I was hungry. Before I arrived I had gone-to-water so I was not dirty; yet my spirit still reeked of smoke and the stench of burning flesh. I had not immediately rushed into town, once I had reached its borders as indicated by fields of corn seen from a distance, I had turned aside from the path into Coweta and forced my way through the undergrowth to a canebrake near the river. I had chopped down a cane and affixed four white crane feathers to it and stuck another into my turban. With my status as a white town messenger displayed, I had entered Coweta. And then….
Two lighthorse promptly accosted me by the simple method of pointing their muskets at my chest. “Who are you; where are you from and who do you seek messenger,” one demanded.
At the time there didn’t seem much point in questioning the aggressive nature of my greeting from Coweta lighthorse. Instead, I merely responded with the same brevity, “Little Bird from Mvtvlwv to see Hopoyetly.”
“This way,” the same lighthorse who spoke before said and promptly set off ahead of me through the town. The other lighthorse fell in behind me.
I remember I thought at the time, “What is going on here?”
I looked about curiously as I was being escorted. I had never been to Coweta. It was more compact than I had imagined but laid out very orderly. Nothing seemed amiss to explain the reception of a white town messenger. The only oddity I noticed was constantly circulating lighthorse who seemed to be strictly patrolling the town. Other than that what I saw in my march through Coweta was the usual: children playing, women cooking, grinding corn, and skinning hides.
The lighthorse lead me through the town towards the Square and circled it to a group of good sized cabins and storage sheds built on a slight rise in the typical four structure, miniature Square ground arrangement. The talker, as I had dubbed him in my mind, said, “Stay here, I’ll see if Mekko will see you.” So I waited holding my cane messenger staff while the other lighthorse impassively waited with his flintlock loosely cradled in his arms.
I remember thinking as we continued to wait and wait and wait some more that we were two herons standing like cypresses in a swamp. I suspected the choice of where we waited in the open under the relentless glare of the summer sun was intentional. Unfortunately, knowing my waiting intentional did not provide either the patience of the heron or its cool surroundings. But fortunately, though I did not have patience, what I did have was a side bag and in that possibilities bag I had a glass canteen, a gift from my father when I became a hunter after my first deer kill, and in that canteen was water that should still be cool since I had filled it from a spring only just before entering town. I shifted my gun to my left hand, holding both it and the staff making sure the butt of the cane rested on top of my foot. I reached into the side bag with my right hand, a bit awkward one handed but doable, and drew out my glass canteen. I pulled the stopper out with my mouth. I looked at the lighthorse and slowly tilted the canteen so the water streamed out into my parched waiting mouth. “Aah,” I said with exaggerated relief. I put the stopper back into the canteen and the canteen back into my side bag.
Just as I had finished this bit of exaggerated play acting the talker finally reemerged from the inner courtyard formed by Brim’s houses. He escorted me to the entrance of the courtyard between two of the houses. “You may leave your pack and gun here,” he said pointing at the side wall of one the houses.
I handed the crane staff to the lighthorse. I leaned my gun against the wall, unslung my pack and sat it on the ground beside it. I unslung my bow and leaned it next to my long gun. The lighthorse handed me the cane staff. He led me into the courtyard and escorted me to its north side to the backside of the summer house. We paused in front of a thatched lean-to projecting from the house’s back wall. I raised my cane staff, “Little Bird of Mvtvlwv with a message for Tvstvnvke Rakko Hopoyetly of Coweta from Mvhvlv.”
I handed the cane wand to the lighthorse, he stepped beneath the lean-to and offered it to Brim. Brim took the wand and stepped forward to the edge of the lean-to and declared, “Hopoyetly Mekko of Coweta what message has Mvhvlv?” Brim handed the wand to the lighthorse, “Let this not touch the ground, have the fire-keeper see that the smoke of its burning ascends so the sun bears witness that its message has been received.”
The lighthorse departed bearing the cane wand aloft. Brim beckoned me beneath the shade of the lean-to. Although the ritual of receiving a message had been performed, not the least courtesy was extended. I was offered neither Sofke or white drink or even a cool drought of water. Brim sat on the bench and motioned for me to sit. He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles.
“So, what says the Old One?”
“When the Morning Star of Grandmother Spider legs her way in darkness over the pre-dawn horizon, before the Great Light rises on the longest day from the stars of Yoholo and Hayuya, and Turtle Island and the Great Light form the white way with the heart of the river; that day is the Great White Day of promise when all the old ways must be born again.”
“That is what he sent you to tell me?”
“Yes Tvstvnvke Rakko, he made me repeat it until I could say it word for word.”
“What good is that to us – sounds like the ravings of a fevered mind or the ramblings of an addled old man.”
“He said you would think so, excuse me, but he said, ‘Tvpalv, you tell that Coweta redstick mekko not all war is on Turtle Island, white sticks will win or lose the battle between the upper and lower world. The fate of the people is the fate of the fire.’”
“The old one never much cared for either the Coweta or redsticks did he?”
“He always told me the Coweta were red on one side and white on the other and that neither they nor redsticks could ever stay upon the white path for long. He said I was much the same, that’s why I remain a tvpalv and that is why he sent his message by me – he said, ‘You and Brim are much the same, you might as well be of the same mother. So you take my words to him’ Sorry, Mekko but that is what he said.”
“Nothing more than he would tell me face to face. He holds me culpable for the Westo and thinks me an upstart and a war monger. All true enough I suppose. Enough of his opinions of me; is there any useful sense to his words or are they just more of his riddles to bemuse the gullible?”
“The elders among the Adjik Hata of the Tamali and Hitchiti etvlwv say that long ago Ofvngv came down among the people and gave them the tutkv itkv; taught them the ways and the medicines to use. They say this was long ago when the sun arose from the stars of Yoholo and Hayuya when the wild onion begins to send forth its shoots.”
“I’ve heard their tales. Huh, those stinkards are always contrary. Our elders tell us four hiyaulgee brought us the fire, the ways, and the medicines.”
“The Adjik Hata claim Ofvngv came down long before the time of the hiyaulgee before the great wanderings when the people spoke the same tongue and were still assembled at the place of emergence. They say that long afterwards, because people began to stray from the ways they had been given, the hiyaulgee came to set them back upon the path and cleanse the fire.”
“A veiled way of saying the Coweta and all of those who speak the proper tongue lost the old fire. Those stinkards will always regard us as wayward latecomers. They just fear the power we have become. Huh, I would say the evidence of the strength of our fire is in the strength of our people. Who is the elder brother and who the younger between the stinkards and us? But despite our long rivalry, no matter what I think of the stinkards or of the Old One, the Old One was too beloved by both the stinkards and us Muskogees to allow his death and the building of one of the Spaniards cursed chapels over the ashes of the fire the Old One kept. Even the heleshiyvlke of most of the other etvlwv believe he blessed the fire of all because he kept the original fire according to the oldest ways. Ambassadors from Moore of the Carolinians have arrived. We must retaliate; the Spaniards desecration cannot be allowed to stand. The Apalachees have gone too far in service of the cross they now serve. The old black drink peace has been broken. Did killv decipher the Old One’s words?”
“You know how they are; they seldom give a straight answer. They said that since the whites first came out of the sea foam so many Keepers have crossed over without passing on their knowledge that they cannot say for certain. The best they can say is that it is many lives of men, 200 hundred, maybe 300 years until the time described by the Old One.”
“That is of no use to me; the future must take care of the future. My concern is today. You sure he had no more practical words.”
“He made be make a vow before the sun that I tell you nothing more until you swear to Ofvngv to tell his words to the killvlke, henehvlke, heleshiyvlke, and mekkvlke so that over the long years some rumor of them might remain.”
“Very well, Tvpalv, with the very breath of life I swear before Ofvngv I shall spread forth the Old One’s words as he has requested. Now, what else did he say?”
“He said to tell you, All know not to turn their back to the fire. A man must walk the path before him according to the light he has been given. The path you are destined for will gain the people a brief span of time. What will be already is.”
“Cryptic as usual. I take it as a yes to my plans. We will see if we can compact with Moore and the Carolinians. If so, we will burn the cursed missions down and break the back of the Apalachees. Since the Old One said nothing else to you; what did you learn while you were there?”
After I delivered my message, told the tale of what I had seen as requested, and answered his questions as best I could; I left as brusquely as I was received. I shouldered my pack, slung my bow across my chest and picked up my gun from the side wall where I had left them. “Now what,” I thought. Before my mind could begin to form an answer to my question, my stomach growled and gurgled. “Huh,” I thought and patted by belly, “you might be out of luck for anything better than jerky from the pack.”
I had half expected the lighthorse to be waiting for me; evidently I was judged a non-threat or their purpose was accomplished, whatever that was – perhaps just to let me know they knew I was around and they were eying me. I sauntered past the Square, only a few men were lounging in the beds talking and puffing their pipes. The steep roof of the council house was directly ahead of me; last choice for lodgings for an itinerant like myself. I ambled around the council house to the far side of the Square. Off to my left I saw a small cleared area for games with a nice raised terrace of earth bracketing it on two sides for spectator seating, a large oak shaded the end closest to me. Ah, that will do nicely I thought.
I walked over to the oak, leaned my gun against the trunk and took off my pack and bow. I sat down with by back against the oak and rummaged in my pack. I took out some jerky, stretched out my legs and bit off a plug. On the far end of the field several boys played one pole ball. I chewed my jerky and absently watched their enthusiastic ball play. So Little Bird, Mvhvlv’s message is delivered; decision time. Morning Light immediately surfaced in my mind like air bubbles rising from dark water. She had niggled at me all the way to Coweta; I hate the idea of her out in the woods alone; she’s still little more than a girl though she thinks herself now a woman. Should I try to find her? Knowing neither her mission nor her destination searching for her was as likely to bear fruit as a rock. Mvhvlv implied our paths would cross again – but is that because I go looking for her or would I miss her if I was off looking for her. Uugh, prophecy obscures as much as it reveals. I’ll just have to trust Mvhvlv knew she would get safely to…to…where?
Morning Light is on her own; there’s nothing I can do for her. I first need to go to Acauwematli; I should report back to the elders. Rumors must have reached them by now; I need to let mother and father know I’m well. But what then? With Mvhvlv gone I’ll never complete my training – might as well drink the bitter medicine of truth – without crossing Mvhvlv’s fire as something, henehv, fire-keeper or kerre, there’s nothing for me at Acauwematli other than mother and father. A shame, but father will never leave his village and mother will never leave father yet I can do nothing but leave. Hunting, interpreting I can do. I suppose I could go to Ocmulgee, I hear there is a village of sorts there; an outpost of outcasts by and large, I would probably fit right in.
Huh, interpreting for Coweta is certainly out now. Don’t bait a bear in his den and expect a taste of his honey. I wonder why Mvhvlv insisted I address Hopoyetly as he did – to anger him, to remind him of the past, their past, or maybe goad him into…what?
No matter what, hot meal and good night sleep under a roof is the first step. Since the mekko extended no hospitality I guess I might as well find the Raccoon Clan and endure the inevitable…
A presence felt or a shadow half seen interrupted my thought a second before the voice registered on my preoccupied mind.
“So messenger, surprised to see me?” I glanced up at Hopoyetly.
I scrambled upright. “Odd you should ask, Mekko. I was just thinking of you.”
“Ah, Mvhvlv’s briefing on me that you withheld from your report.”
“It seemed neither appropriate, and though it might seem strange I should say so, diplomatic to divulge Mvhvlv’s recollection of your past... interactions.”
“So where to now?” he asked.
What is he trying to get at I wondered? I answered, “Acauwematli, I owe the elders a report and should let my mother and father know I am well.”
He didn’t respond, instead he said, “I understand you were Mvhvlv’s tvpalv, the first for many years.”
Where is he going with this? “Since…you,” I commented.
“Yes, since me. When I heard Mvhvlv had a new tvpalv after so many years without one, as you might imagine, I was naturally curious about this tvpalv. I made a point of learning about him… about you that is.”
Uh oh, I didn’t like where this was going… but, if he’s known for a while nothing has come of his knowing so far.
“I am flattered by your interest in a mere tvpalv from a small stinkard village.” I managed to say with composure intact.
He waved a dismissive hand at my attempt at polite misdirection. “Report is,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “your father, Ohletketly isn’t it? is quite the warrior. In fact, as I recall the rumor, he led a war party from Acauwematli against Westo slave raiders. Oh this was many years past, before your birth. Back then the Westo alliance was a terror to all within their reach. They nipped at our eastern flank constantly. But they were not selective in the captives they targeted. They raided among the Cherokee and particularly raided the ill-armed Yamasee to their south. After much negotiation, I managed to entice many of the Yuchi within the alliance to align themselves with the Muskogees. This naturally reduced the threat of the remaining Westo, but it did not slow their raiding activities. Finally, we and the Cherokees decided it was time to deal with a mutual enemy. Our agreement was that we would cease any hostilities between ourselves and aggressively raid the Westos from both the north and east simultaneously, not with large forces but with waves of small raiding parties each focusing upon two goals – taking captives to sell to the Carolinians and destroying crops and food stores whenever possible.
The heroics of your father’s war party occurred during these larger events. Now the Acauwematli had no part in the planned raiding parties. Their actions were purely serendipitous. Apparently, a Westo slave raiding party captured several young Acauwematli women. Though Acauwematli could only boast 30 gunmen, your father set off after the Westos with a party of 20 gunmen. They trailed them for days, gaining upon the raiders but unable to catch up with them. They finally closed upon the raiders only after crossing well into Carolina territory. They found a fresh camp with tracks leading north and other tracks leading south. Your father naturally assumed the exchange with the slave brokers had been made only a day or so before they located the camp. Your father made a daring decision. Even though close to white habitations he sent 15 of the gunmen to retrieve the women with orders to kill all the brokers and dispose of their bodies – else the Carolinians were likely to retaliate. He and four others set off along the apparent back trail of the raiders to exact their revenge. Exact it they did.
He pushed his men, traveling late into the night under the full moon. After four days of traveling all day and half the night, he caught up to the Westos. He dogged their trail but did not attack. Wise, since he now had only five warriors in his party to 12 warriors in the raiding party. The Westos camped for the night, unaware of their imminent danger. Finally, in the small hours of the night just before dawn, he attacked from three sides. He left two warriors on the remaining side to fire upon any who tried to flee through the ‘open’ side.
I notice you carry bow and arrows in addition to your flintlock, I surmise because like your father you appreciate the stealth and rate of fire of the bow and arrow as compared to the long gun. Perhaps you emulate him in this because of hearing this story from the source. In any case, your father rapidly shot four arrows – phst, phst two into the dozing sentries and phst, phst two more into sleeping Westos – before the first confused alarms stirred the remaining 8 raiders. Shots from two sides cut down two more Westos before they could rise from the tangle of their bed roll. Six Westos remained, staring into the night, silhouetted by their camp fire and blinded by it. Your father fired his flintlock, and only five remained.
They turned to flee towards the open side, two more were cut down. The final three fired wildly into the night, expending their shot uselessly. Wielding their hatchets, the five Acauwematli warriors charged the three raiders and quickly hacked them to death. As you perhaps know, the tale did not end there. Your father cut the heads from the raiders and tied them into several bundles made from the long shirts of the raiders.
It just so happened that this night attack occurred on the northern fringes of Westo territory. Your father disposed of the raider’s bodies and planted four tall stakes in the middle of a trail crossing a few miles from the attack. He placed a head on each stake with one facing each direction. As he returned towards Acauwematli, he did the same thing on the Westos’ eastern fringe. He selected one warrior to go to the southern fringe of Westo territory and repeat the garish spectacle.
As you know, when he returned he found that the 15 warriors he had dispatched after the slave brokers had rescued the women and only lost one warrior. All in all, an audacious, lucky, and successful undertaking. What you may not know is that among the 12 Westos were a prominent war chief, a head warrior, and a war medicine henehv. The sudden appearance of their piked heads and those of nine other experienced warriors on the trails leading into their territory filled the Westos with consternation. While they were still dazed by that event, the Cherokee and Muskogee raiding parties began their attacks. Emboldened by the tumult to their north, the Yamasees also rose up against the Westos. Soon even some Carolinians entered the assault directly. Several ships anchored off the coast and sent slave raiding parties into the interior. The end result is that within a few months the Westo alliance was obliterated; its people dead, scattered, or enslaved. Your father’s war party was the spark that lit the tinder.”
“Obviously, I’ve heard the tale though I wasn’t aware of much of the background.” I said just because a comment seemed called for.
“Ah, but the odd thing about the whole affair is that Acauwematli never claimed credit for the destruction of the raiding party and displaying the piked heads on the Westo trails. In fact, I didn’t ferret out the truth of this raid until recently. Don’t you find that odd, messenger?”
Caught like a fly in a web watching the spider close in, I said nothing.
“Oh, if you wish, I have a cabin where you may stay and I’m sure I can round up a niece to cook up something for you. It would save you the…uh… bother of lodging with your clan… Besides, an acquaintance of yours is already staying there; Akake, I believe he is a great nephew of Crazy Hawk. Perhaps after a nights rest we can talk again tomorrow. My informants tell me your English is very good. I have a proposition which could make good use of your skills and which you might find attractive. What do you say Little Bird?”
Ah, I thought conch cup of white drink in one hand, war club in the other – friend or foe – choice is yours. He is fingering me like a flute and for now all I can do is sway to the music. “Mvto Mekko, a meal and a bed would be very welcome.”
“Good, then follow me… I’ll show you your cabin.”
The cabin was situated on the edge of the town, good-sized and built after the este hvtke fashion with plank boards, chimney, and cedar shake shingles. A sloping porch roof projected from the front. “Think this might be a bit more inviting than the forest floor. Had several of these cabins built for white traders and emissaries. Akake is out at a nearby village, he should be back on the morrow, so you’ll have it all to yourself tonight. I took the liberty of providing a fresh change of clothes for you. Come to the Square for asi tomorrow morning; you should be able to hear the conch call from here. We will breakfast afterwards and discuss my proposal. Oh, I know I can trust you to …hmm…keep secrets; so for now keep your interpreter skills quiet.”
Suddenly I understood Hopoyetly’s angling. Mvhvlv said my gift was to discern the man from his smudged footprint. Lighthorse, Apalachees, Traders, Secrets, Westos, Envoys from Moore, Interpreting, the pressuring of Hopoyetly’s enticements and veiled threats: myriad impressions clarified into a pattern. Maybe I could wiggle off the barb.
I leaned against a porch post. “Mekko, might I share my assessment of current affairs.”
He had turned to go; he turned back around with an amused expression, “Why certainly, messenger.”
“For some time now you have been concerned with the Spanish power to the south. Overtures have been made to the Carolinians, rebuffed, negotiated, accepted, delayed. The Carolinians are finally committed to a joint effort yet you now delay. You do not want some minor raids, troublesome for a day and soon forgotten, your goal is to eliminate the southern threat much as the Westo alliance was shattered. Mvhvlv’s death has provided a cause to stir the fervor of warriors far and wide – an atrocity to avenge – but if the Spanish are alert as to the serious nature of your plans they could, would, provide a reception which could call the conflict into serious question. The extent of the attack needs to be secret until it is too late for the Spanish to reinforce the Apalachee provinces. For reasons unknown to me but which I am confident are well founded you suspect someone, probably an envoy not a trader, of doubling dealing – working for the Carolinians while reporting to the Spanish authorities. You want to discover this Spanish agent before agreeing to an attack so the Spanish are not alerted. I suppose you think I might be able to overhear compromising remarks or perhaps there are even written documents to be deciphered though I would think one of the traders could perform that task for you. It is possible that I might overhear something incriminating, but I would think it unlikely. I’m sure whoever the agent is they are cautious and circumspect. Might I suggest an alternative course?”
Hopoyetly’s amusement had evaporated, replaced by mild astonishment. “Ah, I begin to see what Mvhvlv saw in you Tvpalv. What is your suggestion?” He stepped on to the porch and sat down on one of several straight hide-backed, hide-seat chairs.
I sat down in one of the other chairs. “Why not use the agent to your advantage?”
“Can you provide me with ink and parchment?”
“Can you get a letter directly to Moore with none the wiser?”
“Then send Moore a letter with time and place to assemble and any other necessary details. Alert him to the suspicions of a Spanish agent. Keep the envoys here, stage talks and debates on the matter in the Square with chiefs, etc… Let them drag on and on and on…the white’s expect such from us, so it should seem normal to the unknown agent. In private, engage the traders and envoys with more negotiations as if you are wheedling for trade concessions. The agent will report to the Spanish authorities that you are delaying the Carolinians and using the pretext of a joint attack to wrangle trade concessions and only normal skirmishes and retaliatory raids will be in the offing. In the meantime, make arrangements and gather your forces secretly. I recommend not assembling your warriors in mass but have them meet at the agreed time at the rallying point with Moore. Let them make their way separately from their various towns and villages so the size of your force is unknown by the Spanish agent. The Spanish will be lulled and the Apalachee provinces left essentially undefended against a large well-armed force.”
“Ah, yes…yes…that should be workable. You evince the makings of a chief, messenger.”
I waved off the compliment, “Ideas are not the same as execution.”
Hopoyetly stood up. “Yes, very good and I have the perfect role for you. You and Akake will visit the Hitchiti towns and villages and relate the tale of Spanish atrocities perpetrated against Mvhvlv and his elders and garner the support of the Hitchiti warriors. They can make their way to the rallying point, Ocmulgee I think, and if anyone reports their movements to the Spanish it will be construed as the isolated actions of a particular town or village. Well…some girls will be by with a hot meal soon. Eat, relax, I will see you at the Square in the morning.”
Oh, and the barb is still stuck deep – no escape for this fish until the fisherman throws him back as too scrawny to keep. “Yes, Mekko, I will be honored to be there.” Oh, enjoy the sun peeking through the clouds Little Bird, hot meal, soft bed, clean clothes and a resolved itinerary.
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