[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Surinen

Surinen watched Rôg closely over the rim of his cup, as it cooled beneath his breath, his eyes glittering in the light of the oil lamp he had lit to better observe the stranger. He wondered who this person might be that had appeared so suddenly upon the very edge of their camp. Where he was from, Surinen could only guess, and of what to do about him he was also unsure. It was against the dictates of hospitality to deny help to someone found adrift in the desert, as this one doubtless seemed. Yet the man, Rôg, avoided saying how he came to be in such a situation. And that presented a problem to the outrider, for times were not as they were in the past, and strangers were no longer as well tolerated as they might have been it times past, particularly if they were not forthcoming about their business. If the outriders were to bring a stranger such as this one back to the encampment, they would risk their people’s existence, and if he did indeed prove a benign presence, than Narayad and he would still have greatly compromised their position. It was a chance that they would not take.

Surinen’s coffee had almost reached the point were he could safely drink it, and he smiled with the anticipation of being the first, when quite unexpectedly their guest took a sip, and with blinking eyes pronounced it good. It was a show of bravado that would not sit well with Narayad, who Surinen saw was already glaring at Rôg and draining his cup fully, shook the empty vessel out briskly afterward as a sign that he wanted no more, before setting it aside. This fellow clansman did not seem pleased, and Surinen’s smile faded rapidly, as he quickly sipped his coffee and set it down in front of him.

“So tell me my good hosts,” Rôg said after a moment. “What brings you so far south to dig a well?”

Surinen shot another glance at Narayad, thankful that he did not understand Rôg’s speech; and who seemed to be harboring an ill temper despite the success with the well. “One must always have water,” he said, “and a place for the flocks to forage. It grows crowded north of here.”

“Of course. What animals do you tend then?” the stranger inquired, seeming to be sincerely curious.

“Oh, many,” Surinen replied, a bit surprised by the question, for most of the desert people kept the same. “Sheep, goats, camels and very fine horses, slight and swift they are, and beautiful to the eye. My people have many of these things.”

“And very fine coffee also.” Rôg said, evidently enjoying his mug of the drink. Surinen leaned across their circle, filling his guest cup again, and reaching around to open a small wooden box containing some stale flat bread, he placed it before Rôg pouring a small portion of a salty powder onto one corner.

“Eat.” he said.

“What is this?” the guest asked, pointing to the bright red concoction.

“Very hot, but good, chilies, salt, garlic, spice. You will be warm, and it takes away hunger.”

Just then Narayad began speaking rapidly to Surinen, asking many questions, most of which Surinen found he had no answer for yet. “Who is this man? Where is he from? What questions is he asking of you? Be careful of you answers, Surinen, for I do not trust this one who wears gold in his ear.” He declared, wagging his finger dramatically as he cautioned his friend.

“Perhaps he is just a tattooist, lost while traveling to some Haradrim ceremony,” Surinen countered, observing the callous and stain on Rôg’s finger, as he gingerly held the steaming hot mug. “I have not yet learned who he is.”

“Your friend seems upset. Is anything wrong?” The guest inquired.

Shrugging off all the questions raining down on him for the moment, Surinen turned he attention to Narayad and poised his own. “What would you have me do with him then?” he asked with a furrowed brow and punctuating his speech by bobbing his head sharply, as he talked. “We cannot take him with us, not all the way back, for he seems overly curious as to why we are here. You know I would welcome any useful suggestions!”

“We could kill him,” Narayad suggested. “And then worry about him no longer.”

“I can not do that,” Surinen said. “Though he is not open with us, I’m not sure that I would be either in his position.”

“Bind him and leave him then,” Narayad offered.

“Perhaps we could lower him into the collapsed well, along with what he would need to escape. By the time he was to find his way out, we would be gone and he could go his own way, having a little better chance then when we found him.”

“This is agreeable to me, but we can’t afford to leave much,” Narayad stated. “A few days supply at most.”

“It is better than nothing. I will give him a full water skin and my rations,” Surinen said nodding to the decorated wooden box. “He will be alright with that for a few days. And hopefully he will have wandered off long before the rest of us arrive. We can ride out again to make sure of it.”

Surinen turned again to his guest, who eyebrows were raised, no doubt, the outrider thought, in anticipation of an answer. “Narayad was asking who you are and were you are from, Rôg. But you have said that you are Rôg, and do not seem to say more. We will not press you, for we are not a rude people, and your business is your own, as is ours,” he said, the smile returning to his face. “Eat!”