Aman iman(Water is Life) 2/?
"Mr. McCoy!" Moussa called for his attention as they approached the edge of the village.
Leonard looked at the man, nodding his head acknowledging his presence, he paused to take out a handkerchief, removing the ball cap, he swiped at his sweaty forehead, replacing the cap as he stole a look at the dune K'irk had been overseeing his arrival from. Nothing, the man and his ride were gone. Squashing his disappointment, Leonard moved forward beside Moussa as he led their mounts by their leads, Leonard walking into the bustle of daily life in T'chibeniten. Hot soft breezes blew past him, as he watched the simple people move through their routines. Beautiful women dressed in indigo cloth, wrapped around their bodies, held by brass pins made by enad(smiths) their heads covered with long indigo shawls, to protect them from the harsh winds of the Sahara. They tended fires that the evening meal was being prepared over, watched their children, reclined against their men, their faces content. Goats were corraled off to his right, their scent and their sounds carried on the wind. Young men called on the tents of young women, hoping for approval from their fathers that they might court them. Children, the very young, naked, the older ones watching out for them, laughed and played, always under the watchful eyes of their parents. One woman was in the middle of a lesson, two boys watching as she scratched the characters of Tifinagh(Tuareg alphabet) in the sand, then copied as she smiled and nodded her approval.
Leonard marvelled at the contentment on the faces of every man, woman, and child as he followed through the tented village. The 23rd century, and these people were not scrabbling for wealth or power like so many others across the galaxy, they just...lived.
Moussa stopped in front of a tent, motioning Leonard inside, "K'irk." He said by way of explanation, turning to continue on to the camel pen at the other end of the small community. They had reached the middle of T'chibeniten without Leonard realizing it, so fascinated by their way of life. The tent he stood in front of was larger than the others, almost mahogany in color, stitched carefully together, a courtyard with a raised covering to protect the interior from the blazing sun, where K'irk would hear news, discuss plans with the elders, see to the needs of his people. Daring a glance inside, he saw a bright goat leather pillow, in turquoise, reds, yellows, and more mahogany accented on the ends with white and black leather fringe. Surrounding the pillow were books. So many books. PADDs, which surprised him, because Tuareg are nomads who stay in place for only six months at a time. They eschewed modern conveniences such as electricity. Charts, maps, and notebooks, of handmade paper, bound in more brightly colored goat leather. Another surprise once seeing the PADDs. But then, K'irk was a man filled with surprises.
"Curious, Mr. McCoy?" The quiet voice started him. Turning, he came face to face with his current obsession. Standing in the entrance to the tent, the evening sun at his back, hands clasped behind him, waves of calm, and confidence rolling off of him, Leonard McCoy looked into the bluest eyes, in the most serene face he had ever encountered in his life. And couldn't remember how to breathe.
Leonard looked at the man, nodding his head acknowledging his presence, he paused to take out a handkerchief, removing the ball cap, he swiped at his sweaty forehead, replacing the cap as he stole a look at the dune K'irk had been overseeing his arrival from. Nothing, the man and his ride were gone. Squashing his disappointment, Leonard moved forward beside Moussa as he led their mounts by their leads, Leonard walking into the bustle of daily life in T'chibeniten. Hot soft breezes blew past him, as he watched the simple people move through their routines. Beautiful women dressed in indigo cloth, wrapped around their bodies, held by brass pins made by enad(smiths) their heads covered with long indigo shawls, to protect them from the harsh winds of the Sahara. They tended fires that the evening meal was being prepared over, watched their children, reclined against their men, their faces content. Goats were corraled off to his right, their scent and their sounds carried on the wind. Young men called on the tents of young women, hoping for approval from their fathers that they might court them. Children, the very young, naked, the older ones watching out for them, laughed and played, always under the watchful eyes of their parents. One woman was in the middle of a lesson, two boys watching as she scratched the characters of Tifinagh(Tuareg alphabet) in the sand, then copied as she smiled and nodded her approval.
Leonard marvelled at the contentment on the faces of every man, woman, and child as he followed through the tented village. The 23rd century, and these people were not scrabbling for wealth or power like so many others across the galaxy, they just...lived.
Moussa stopped in front of a tent, motioning Leonard inside, "K'irk." He said by way of explanation, turning to continue on to the camel pen at the other end of the small community. They had reached the middle of T'chibeniten without Leonard realizing it, so fascinated by their way of life. The tent he stood in front of was larger than the others, almost mahogany in color, stitched carefully together, a courtyard with a raised covering to protect the interior from the blazing sun, where K'irk would hear news, discuss plans with the elders, see to the needs of his people. Daring a glance inside, he saw a bright goat leather pillow, in turquoise, reds, yellows, and more mahogany accented on the ends with white and black leather fringe. Surrounding the pillow were books. So many books. PADDs, which surprised him, because Tuareg are nomads who stay in place for only six months at a time. They eschewed modern conveniences such as electricity. Charts, maps, and notebooks, of handmade paper, bound in more brightly colored goat leather. Another surprise once seeing the PADDs. But then, K'irk was a man filled with surprises.
"Curious, Mr. McCoy?" The quiet voice started him. Turning, he came face to face with his current obsession. Standing in the entrance to the tent, the evening sun at his back, hands clasped behind him, waves of calm, and confidence rolling off of him, Leonard McCoy looked into the bluest eyes, in the most serene face he had ever encountered in his life. And couldn't remember how to breathe.