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Old 10-02-2004, 09:11 AM   #301
Ealasaide
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
 
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Airefalas

Having spent most of the day cooped up with Mithadan in the stuffy tent of the Elder that neither of them had yet had the opportunity to meet, by evening Airefalas was feeling restless and out of sorts. He was tired of being under suspicion, under guard, and generally tired of being a prisoner, even if it was for his own good, as he was constantly being reminded that it was. As night fell and the wailing and keening of the night before was replaced by singing, presumably around the funeral bier of the Eagles' fallen leader, Airefalas found himself edging ever closer to the open tent flaps, watching to see what their guards were up to, listening... listening for what? He was not sure, perhaps for anything that would break up the boredom of confinement. All he heard, however, was the occasional low murmur of conversation in the mostly unintelligible tribal dialect. While he could pick up a few stray words here and there that he remembered from the trading dialect that was used up and down the coast, it was not enough to allow him to follow anything with any degree of comprehension.

Finally, as he edged a little too close to the open flaps, Mithadan looked over at him. "I hope you are not planning to go anywhere," he said mildly.

Airefalas shook his head. "Not really. After all, where is there to go?" he answered. A moment later, he added dryly, "...although I might consider drowning myself if there was any water around. This sitting about is interminable."

"Patience, my friend," said Mithadan. "I have a feeling we will be moving soon."

"I hope so. I'm getting to the point where I almost miss my camel."

Remembering the younger man's battles with his recalcitrant camel on the journey there, Mithadan laughed quietly and went back to sharpening his sword, which he had been doing not so much because it needed sharpening, but more as a way to pass the time. "Serious things are afoot," the captain said after a moment. "And our fate may already be more deeply entangled with the fate of these people than we know. I would suggest that you enjoy the rest while you can get it and use the time to learn all you can about what is happening. It may benefit us later."

"Well, I would," answered Airefalas crossly. "If I could make out a bloody word that they're saying. In the meantime, it would do me no end of good just to get out of this confounded tent for a few minutes, at least for a stretch of my legs."

"Why don't you ask the guards if they would mind a little walk around? They are probably as bored as you are. In fact, I might go with you. I should like another word with Aiwendil, if we can locate him." Sheathing his newly honed sword, Mithadan rose to his feet and joined Airefalas at the mouth of the tent. Raising a hand, Airefalas called out to the guards.

As Mithadan had predicted they seemed just as eager for a bit of exercise as the Gondorians were and, within seconds, the group of them had embarked on a leisurely stroll through the darkness between the tents. Since Mithadan had communicated to the guards his desire to find Aiwendil once more, they moved in the general direction of the elderly istar's tent. Arriving, they found the tent empty. Looking around and seeing no indication of where the old fellow or his companion might have gone, the guards walked casually in the direction of a pair of women cooking over a small fire nearby. Airefalas listened idly as a lively conversation ensued between the guards and the women in the tribal dialect, presumably over the whereabouts of the missing guests. Unable to understand more than a word or two, Airefalas turned away, letting his eyes and mind wander, until his gaze fell upon the slight figure of a girl, about twenty paces distant, carrying a pair of full water skins that dangled heavily from a stick across her shoulders. Watching her slow progress, it suddenly occurred to Airefalas that he knew her. It was the same young woman who had been keeping house for them in Fador's tent since their arrival, the one with whom he had had the misunderstanding over the cheese.

Without thinking, Airefalas turned and walked toward her, intending to give her some assistance with the skins. He caught up with her just as she rounded the corner of a large tent, placing them both out of sight of Mithadan and the two guards. Reaching out, he touched her shoulder.

"Hello," he said quietly. Startled, she turned quickly, dropping both the stick and the two skins, sloshing a few ounces of precious water on to the sandy earth. Her dark eyes widened with a combination of alarm and recognition. Stepping back a pace, Airefalas raised his hands, palms outward, to show her that he meant her no harm. Recognizing the gesture, her initial fear evaporated quickly and she smiled, though a bit nervously. To his surprise, she spoke to him in halting and heavily accented Westron.

"You! How you..." she hesitated. "Where..." At a loss for the word she sought, the girl made a comical pantomime of the two armed guards who had been stationed outside of the tent all day. Airefalas grinned.

"Guards? Where are the guards?" he suggested. When she nodded, he gestured behind himself with a quick motion of his head. "Not far. In fact, I thought at least one of them would be right behind me.

"I thought you didn't speak Westron," he added a second later, recalling their earlier communication problems.

She smiled. "Only little bit," she answered carefully, with a matching gesture of her thumb and forefinger. "My father teach. But you..." She took his wrist and tried to push him back in the direction of the guards. "You go back. Very danger here for you. Gourds very anger."

Picturing a pair of angry gourds close on his heels, Airefalas laughed softly. "Guards," he corrected her amiably. "Yes, I imagine they would be angry if they thought I escaped, but it isn't as though I snuck away. I think they know where I am." He pointed to the two water skins she had been attempting to carry. "I was hoping to help you with those."

Stubbornly, she shook her head. "No! You go back. I carry. Guards very anger you gone."

Seeing that she was genuinely concerned, Airefalas gave her a good-natured shrug. "Okay, I go back. But at least tell me your name that I might know what to call you in the future."

At a puzzled look from her, he repeated, "Name?" He tapped his chest. "My name Airefalas. Your name?"

Her face lit up suddenly with understanding. "Latah. My name Latah." She was just going to say something else, when a shout when up from behind Airefalas in the direction of Aiwendil's empty tent, where he had left Mithadan and the two guards. Instantly, Latah's small hand closed again around the Northerner's wrist as she left her water skins and pulled him with her around the corner of the tent and back into the view of the now truly angry guards. Calling out to them in a high, clear voice, she spoke rapidly to them for a moment in her own dialect. Airefalas thought he heard her say something about water. Then one of the guards laughed and shook his head. The other guard sheathed his drawn sword. Smiling, Latah curtsied to Mithadan and, with another quick word to the guards, went back in the direction of her deserted water skins. Just as she was about to turn the corner of the tent, she glanced back. Though it was dark, Airefalas could have sworn there was a mirthful twinkle in her eyes.

"What was that all about?" asked Mithadan as she disappeared from view.

Airefalas shook his head. "Sorry - I thought the everyone saw me go. I was going to help her with some heavy water skins." He changed the subject. "Any word of your friend?"

Mithadan shook his head no, as the four men began the trek back toward their host's tent. "I guess I will have to have my word with him later."

Last edited by Ealasaide; 10-13-2004 at 06:37 AM.
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