The Dangrus one.....

~artist: Larry Elmore~

"Mesmerizing eyes as deep and blue as Thassa itself, look at me with a gaze that is steady and clear. Her delicate porcelain features, so like her mother's, surrounded by that fiery mane of unruly silken waves seem almost..... fragile. My daughter I look at this beauty before me and still see the little girl she was. The tiny bundle of energy who sat on my knee, learning to read and write before she was three. She was too smart for her own good, her passion for knowledge was limitless. When I look at her, I can't help but notice that the blue silk robes she wears which should protect and conceal, only serve to accentuate the curves of her body. The slender hands are so feminine, none but I would ever imagine her skill with the crossbow. Little did I know when I answered her relentless questions about the weapon, that she would one day take my own bow from the safety of our home and actually use it. I still remember the day I discovered her secret. In a grove of larma, the ground littered with ruined fruit, she froze for a moment at the sound of my voice. I felt my heart swell with pride and it was near impossible to maintain my composure as the victorious grin spread across her face, deepening that one dimple in her right cheek. The defiant thrust to her pert chin and the triumphant gleam in her deep blue eyes told me she would take whatever punishment I administered with the strength and grace of a Gorean woman. The pure thrill of her accomplishment had made it worthwhile. My daughter I enjoy watching her now in those quiet moments when she walks along the beach, lost in her thoughts. The chubby little body is gone and in it's place, the lush curves of a woman. The long, shapely legs still bear the faint scars of skinned knees. I look at this exquisite beauty and wonder if I did her a disservice by teaching her to be so strong, so self-sufficient. Did I allow her too much freedom? Perhaps. Will she encounter resistance to her strong will when she begins to make her own way in Gorean society? Most definitely. But, more often than not, I wonder what will happen if the day comes when I am no longer there to protect and guide her. And then..... I see that dangrus spark ignite deep in the blue of her eyes, and I know... She did not choose her name... She earned it. My daughter..... the Dangrus one."

Those words were written by my father.  I never knew my mother, she died giving birth to me. A fierce storm raged over our tiny island of Asperiche on the night I was born. My father told me I brought the storms with me. He said he saw them in my eyes that night. He predicted I would leave chaos in my wake. So he named me Dangrus. It seems he was prophetic. Or perhaps, I just want to live up to his expectations. My father raised me alone, not an easy task for a Gorean man. But, he promised my mother as she lay dying in his arms, that I would grow up Free and he was a man of his word. A large man, his very presence seemed to fill every room he entered, and Oh, how I adored him. He seemed a giant to the small girl with the tousled curls of fire so like his own. He'd lift me onto his powerful shoulders and walk along the beach, and I'd spread my arms wide, sure that I was high enough to fly with the tarns. The huge hands that were capable of breaking a tree trunk in half were so gentle when bandaging a little girl's skinned knees. His voice was like thunder. When angry, his loud, booming voice could be heard for pasangs. But, at night, I'd nestle in the warmth of his embrace, lay my head on his broad chest and listen to the soft rumble of his voice as he told me wondrous stories of brave warriors and the beautiful kajirae who loved them. My Father I remember the day I took his crossbow into the orchard. It had been his father's. He patiently explained each piece as his large hands lovingly rubbed the oil into the aged Ka-la-na wood. A few days later, with the bow carefully wrapped in layers of rep cloth, I made my way into the trees, shivering with the excitement of the forbidden. At first, I could barely balance the heavy stock and I spent a great deal of time chasing the bolts that had missed their intended marks. But, gradually, as I became accustomed to the weapon, my bolts began to find their targets. First the trunks of the tall larma trees, and then finally the fruit itself. I was in a frenzy, picking the fruits off the trees with abandon when I heard the booming of his deep voice. "Dangrus!!" I froze. His voice echoed through every fiber of my being. I had never in all my 14 years known such stark terror. The nerve in the side of his chiseled jaw twitched and I could hear the air hissing between his teeth with each breath. His massive frame shook and his large hands clenched into fists. My heart pounded like a captive bird in a cage as his fiery blue eyes surveyed the damage I'd done. I held my breath, knowing that for the first time ever, I had probably earned the whip. But, when my eyes met his, I saw something else. Behind the anger, beyond the concern... I saw a spark.... of pride. And in that instant, I knew. He was angry, yes. I would be punished, deservedly. But, as the sheer exhilaration swept through me, and my face broke into a wide grin, I knew that I would accept any punishment willingly. It had been more than worth it. I had made him proud. He was pleased. My Father He was my world. He was killed by thieves while in Lydius to translate a rare scroll. A Free Woman is not safe in the cities alone, so taking only the crossbow and a few personal items, I ran, making my way north to the camp of the Panther Girls. I spent several years with the Panthers, earning a place in their midst through my skill with the crossbow. But, I longed for the water. I found myself traveling farther and farther from the forest. Searching for what, I was not sure. On one such expedition, I happened upon a tiny camp at the base of a waterfall. The owner welcomed me and I found myself returning time and time again, drawn to the water that reminded me of my island beginnings. Shortly before she died, the proprietor passed full  ownership of the camp to me. I have made my place here, the peace and tranquility a welcome respite to travelers and wanderers. It is not an easy life, that of a Free Woman alone on Gor. But, in those moments when I begin to doubt.... I open the worn journal and I find comfort in the words... and I find my strength in the knowledge that I truly am.... My Father's daughter.

*The above is a work of fiction, based on reality. The "weapon" was actually a slingshot, hand crafted by my Grandfather. The apples destroyed were all collected, made into pies, and I spent the rest of the summer working in the orchard making restitution to the owner. And for those who wonder, yes.... I did feel the kiss of leather for what I did. And yes, it was worth it. D.

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