Birdie sat high on the door lintel, gazing down on Captain Tarcil as he worked at his table. His room, in a way, reminded the Changling of Child's on the Lonely Star, every surface covered with stacks of reports, maps, and letters. But Captain Tarcil's tastes were far more spartan. And there were no books. Not a one.
Suddenly the door jamb shook as a prison guard entered the room and saluted his superior. Bird gazed down on the "Black Numenorean", still surprised that all the Men in the prison looked "normal". This young soldier could even be described as handsome. Bird knew better than anyone that Evil does not always show a foul face, but still had to wonder what had led these Men - who could have been mixed in with any of the Dunedain or the population of Minas Tirith - to instead chose to follow their Dark Master.
"Captain Tarcil, Sir. I have the names for tomorrow's selection". He handed a scroll to the captain, who took it with a put-upon sigh and unrolled the parchment.
Selection, thought Birdie. What is a 'Selection'?
"Meridoc the smith?" The captain glanced up at the soldier.
"Yes, sir. He has cut his foot, and the wound has become infected. He is having trouble standing at the forge, now."
"I wasn't aware that anything could pierce the hoof of a halfing." The captain murmured to himself. "What's this? Holly the cook? Surely not!"
"Sorry, sir. But her child is weaned now. And we have so few of the older females left."
"Pity. She makes an excellent stew. 'Primrose', 'Lobelia'...Why do these hobbits insist on continuing to name their females after flowers, when they never see flowers...very well. I'll go over this and give you my final selection in the morning. Dismissed."
The young soldier turned and left the room. Bird sat on the lintel, suddenly feeling very, very cold. "I have to see the names on that list!"
[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]
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