[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

Gramil held onto his oliphaunt as best he could, his knuckles white, his face grim. The strange slow jerking motion of an oliphaunt he never could get used to, one reason he usually rode donkeys. The best he could do was keep his knees up so as not to clip himself on the chin. It made him look rather like an awkward skinny spider perched atop the creature. An unhappy skinny spider. There was never a more grateful man than Gramil touching earth at their first camp. He stood and stretched, and took in their surroundings.

Scattered low trees dotted grasslands that were warm and baked golden in the summer's heat. A sweet scent rose on the soft evening breeze, and stars began to fill the darkening evening sky.

Gramil hummed in his rich baritone as his pulled his bags off the oliphaunt, a tune Ethar recognized as they all knew it.

While they quickly set up camp, nightfall was sudden in the flats, Ethar picked up the descant of this old song of the stars, when they were seeded into the sky. By nightfall they would loom down at the travellers, dazzling the eyes. The Corsairs of Umbar learned to steer by the stars on these grasslands long before they used them at sea. Gramil had used them himself, in setting his fabled route to Nurn, one that bypassed both the Harad Road and Poros.

Gramil was pleased. They had made good time. The oliphaunts were fresh and eager to be out of the city, their ears perked, their trunks testing the air, the countryside, anything they passed. Ethar was an excellent rider and disciplined his mount to pay attention to the road, but Gramil's oliphaunt did what she liked. Gramil wisely chose the younger beasts for himself and the rest of the group, as they would follow Ethar's. Gramil was unsuprised the young Tiger was a good rider, but it startled him Jarl was so comfortable in the seat.

Ethar had a good blaze going as the sun vanished in a blaze across the horizon. They set no tents as it was unlikely to rain in this season. A fine cloth to keep out the bugs was all they needed. When they finished their song, Jarl commented:

"Gramil, I didn't know you were such a singer." He nudged an escaped coal back into the fire with his boot. Gramil blushed as he peeled the bark off a green twig to use as a poker.

"I was meant to be one of the Singers, teachers you would call them I suppose," he explained. "Taught and groomed to be such by the old Singer at our plantation himself. The warrior-priesthood is passed from father to son, but the Singers can be anyone.

"They have to be chosen by the warrior-priest's guild," Gramil looked up at the stars wistfully. "When I passed my twenty-fourth birthday and still was not claimed, a new course was set for my life."

[ October 12, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]