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Lalwendë · 08-18-2004, 01:13 PM

Tarn

As it dawned on Tarn that there was an elven ship heading for the shore, he instinctively reached inside his battered leather coat, feeling for the pocket he had roughly sewn into it, to hold his knives. They were still there. He did not trust elves. He did not trust anyone, but elves less than most, even though he had never met one. His grandfather had told him the old stories, and had told him not to trust anyone who cannot die. “It is not the way of things” he had said.

Tarn screwed up his eyes against the wind, straining to pick out the movements of the elven ship, working out whether it would attempt to come to shore nearby. He wanted to see what would happen, but he did not want to be seen himself. He bent down to the seals, still bobbing around in the water at his feet, and made a peculiar clicking noise. The sleek heads nodded farewell as one and disappeared under the water as they swam away.

“We’re going back,” he said to Thynne, but the lad did not move. “Shift it, come on.” snapped Tarn. Still the boy stared out to sea at the ship. Tarn was losing his patience and snatched the boy’s collar. “Did you hear me?” he said, bending down and staring into the lad’s eyes. Thynne jumped and started to run back to the stone hut near the cliffs, fearful that Tarn would catch up with him and punish him. He did not dare ask Tarn about the strange ship, and whether it was more Corsairs arriving.

***

Thynne’s father had left the warmth of the hut. “He’s probably gone in search of more ale, so you may as well make yourself useful while I go out again, and if you do what I want, then you might get some of that stew” said Tarn, pointing at a large cooking pot next to the hearth. “But mark me, I know exactly how many pieces of Reindeer meat there are in that pot and if I get back and your work isn’t done, and you’ve eaten, then you’ll see trouble.”

Tarn left the lad a pile of fishing nets to be mended, and went back outside. From his storehouse next door he took a pair of snow shoes and his harpoon, strapping them to his back, in case he might need them. He then covered his hands with the dust from a piece of chalk and wiped the powder around his face, whitening it. He pulled his wolfskin cloak tightly around his shoulders, securing it at the waist with a crude leather belt, and covered his head with a white fur hood. Watching through a crack in the door, Thynne found it hard to make Tarn out against the rocks as he strode away.

***

Some hours later, Tarn remained on watch from behind the cairn of granite he used as a vantage point over the bay. The weather had now subsided, and as often happens after a storm, the air was bright and he had a clear view of what was going on below. He could even smell the food cooking.

Tarn had seen the Lossoth boats making for the elven ship and watched as they boarded. He felt a knot of anger in his stomach and wished he could hear what was being said. He supposed some kind of plot was afoot and guessed that the Corsairs might have seen this and come up with a plan themselves. Moving from his hiding place he edged down the scree slope which fell away from the cairn and found his way to the path which ran down the cliffs. Stopping at the bottom of the slope, he turned the wolfskin cloak and the hood inside out, and spitting on his gloves, wiped them across his face to remove the chalk. He was determined to find out what was happening and thought he might hear something interesting close to the Corsair ship.

08-18-2004, 01:13 PM	#25
Lalwendë A Mere Boggart Join Date: Mar 2004 Location: under the bed Posts: 4,737	Tarn As it dawned on Tarn that there was an elven ship heading for the shore, he instinctively reached inside his battered leather coat, feeling for the pocket he had roughly sewn into it, to hold his knives. They were still there. He did not trust elves. He did not trust anyone, but elves less than most, even though he had never met one. His grandfather had told him the old stories, and had told him not to trust anyone who cannot die. “It is not the way of things” he had said. Tarn screwed up his eyes against the wind, straining to pick out the movements of the elven ship, working out whether it would attempt to come to shore nearby. He wanted to see what would happen, but he did not want to be seen himself. He bent down to the seals, still bobbing around in the water at his feet, and made a peculiar clicking noise. The sleek heads nodded farewell as one and disappeared under the water as they swam away. “We’re going back,” he said to Thynne, but the lad did not move. “Shift it, come on.” snapped Tarn. Still the boy stared out to sea at the ship. Tarn was losing his patience and snatched the boy’s collar. “Did you hear me?” he said, bending down and staring into the lad’s eyes. Thynne jumped and started to run back to the stone hut near the cliffs, fearful that Tarn would catch up with him and punish him. He did not dare ask Tarn about the strange ship, and whether it was more Corsairs arriving. * Thynne’s father had left the warmth of the hut. “He’s probably gone in search of more ale, so you may as well make yourself useful while I go out again, and if you do what I want, then you might get some of that stew” said Tarn, pointing at a large cooking pot next to the hearth. “But mark me, I know exactly how many pieces of Reindeer meat there are in that pot and if I get back and your work isn’t done, and you’ve eaten, then you’ll see trouble.” Tarn left the lad a pile of fishing nets to be mended, and went back outside. From his storehouse next door he took a pair of snow shoes and his harpoon, strapping them to his back, in case he might need them. He then covered his hands with the dust from a piece of chalk and wiped the powder around his face, whitening it. He pulled his wolfskin cloak tightly around his shoulders, securing it at the waist with a crude leather belt, and covered his head with a white fur hood. Watching through a crack in the door, Thynne found it hard to make Tarn out against the rocks as he strode away. * Some hours later, Tarn remained on watch from behind the cairn of granite he used as a vantage point over the bay. The weather had now subsided, and as often happens after a storm, the air was bright and he had a clear view of what was going on below. He could even smell the food cooking. Tarn had seen the Lossoth boats making for the elven ship and watched as they boarded. He felt a knot of anger in his stomach and wished he could hear what was being said. He supposed some kind of plot was afoot and guessed that the Corsairs might have seen this and come up with a plan themselves. Moving from his hiding place he edged down the scree slope which fell away from the cairn and found his way to the path which ran down the cliffs. Stopping at the bottom of the slope, he turned the wolfskin cloak and the hood inside out, and spitting on his gloves, wiped them across his face to remove the chalk. He was determined to find out what was happening and thought he might hear something interesting close to the Corsair ship.