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Old 03-04-2004, 06:19 PM   #129
piosenniel
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Far Harad – Rôg’s family

They had reached the low, southern tip of the coastal mountain range and now turned west toward the small forested area that lay nestled between the lowlands and the sea. Trading had been good for the small clan this season with those of other clans along the foothills and now after three months of stopping to show their wares they were finally nearing home. There had been no word come south to them from their son, though they had checked in the larger trading places with all those merchants who had come down from the north, from Umbar.

Abâr flicked the reins lightly against the goats’ backs as they pulled the family’s small, canvas covered wagon. ‘Perhaps he could not get a message to us,’ he said aloud, following up a train of thought that had been running through his mind while he watched the haunches of the goats work up and down as they moved along. Űriyat, sitting next to him on the padded seat, pushed her greying hair back from her face and ran the back of her arm across her sweaty brow. She turned toward him, her brow furrowed. ‘He?’ she asked, pulling her woven hat up from beneath the seat and fixing it firmly on her head.

‘Rôg, mother,’ came the tired voice from the back of the seat. ‘He’s talking about him.’ The sound of someone scuffling forward was followed by a tanned, smooth face poking itself out between the shoulders of the other two. Wriggling her way a little further into the space, Dairaphel leaned on the wooden seat back, her brown eyes squinting against the brightness of the sun. In a gesture much like her mother’s, she, too, swept her hair back from her face, inviting whatever little breeze there was to cool her skin in passing.

Her face, in profile, resembled her brother’s. And save for the fact she was two years older than he, one would think them twins. In temperament, too, they were much alike. Pleasant to be around, intelligent, quick witted. Unlike him, though, she had no desire to wander beyond the boundaries of the areas through which her clan journeyed on their seasonal migrations. She did not envy him his knowledge of the greater world, being satisfied to read his letters as she sat with her family in the clan encampments. ‘This is enough,’ she would say, looking about on those nights when the people drew near their leader’s fire to hear the old stories. It was an unvoiced sentiment echoed by all those in their small clan, this feeling of isolation from the pull of the outer world. She was safe within the fastness of the clan; secure in its ways.

Daira, as her family called her, clambered over the back of the seat and scrunched in between her parents. She patted her father on his thick forearm and smiled at him, taking his mind away for a moment from his worried line of thought. ‘His last letter said he was setting out toward the south, attű,' she reminded him. 'Spring has just come; perhaps in his haste to get here he has not had time to send a letter.’ She wrinkled her forehead recalling where Rôg’s last letter had said he was. ‘It is a long, long way from those other mountains to ours. We will see him in time.’

Her father leaned into her, giving her shoulder an affectionate nudge with his own. He flicked the reins once more against the back of the goats, urging them on at a quicker pace. Daira’s gaze took in the familiar landmarks that marked the way to their little forest, watching as the others of the clan turned their feet and their own carts in the direction of home. With a satisfied smile she hummed an old tune, her mother soon picking up the harmony. ‘This is enough,’ she thought as they wagon rocked gently over the hard-packed track. ‘Yes, this is enough.’

Last edited by piosenniel; 03-04-2004 at 06:56 PM.
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