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Hilde Bracegirdle · 03-05-2004, 11:59 AM

Thorn

As Thorn steered for the course that his people were to follow this season, he wondered what he might find when he eventually reached them, hoping that they would be in a position to react quickly to his news. And after the grievous hindrance in Umbar he was not sure that the trouble he had learned of was not already close upon his heels. So he continued steadily through the heat, climbing higher to seek the cooler levels of the sky on his long journey.

It might have been a daunting task for another to locate his people in the vast desert, but Thorn had a thorough knowledge of the trackless landscape and the path Ayar was following. Though where his kinsmen might be stationed on that path he was unsure. Even the remotest areas, where his foot had never touched were not unknown to him. For as a child he and a handful of others had been painstakenly trained, and as a young man he could navigate through the waste, using water sources as another might use stars, to direct his way. The hundreds of timeworn routes of his ancestors he held in his memory like the constellations joining those stars, each having their own names in his mother tongue. Though many he had never traveled himself, he could easily trace their path by rote in his mind, despite the ever-changing face of the desert.

In the earlier days maps had been made of these things, depicting where life might be supportable. But at the end of the third age, as times grew more difficult , such meaningful information was closely guarded, with only a few of each generation becoming a living repository for the whole clan. And the maps fell into disuse, becoming dated they were eventually discarded.

As it glided, the eagle noticed a persistent wind had risen out of the north. It was an ill omen, for it signified death in many a tale, and with good reason. Certainly it was hot enough for a storm to form, but hopefully he could reach the shelter of the camp before it overtook him. He wondered how far Ráma had gotten in her trek, grateful that she had not yet obtained a form. Perhaps she could find a refuge from a storm yet, in the villages surrounding Umbar.

Suddenly a downdraft pulled Thorn back among rough, warmer levels, and he struggled to override his natural impulse to find some haven, as well the pull of the current itself. The bump and jostle of the wind becoming increasingly pronounced overtime beneath his great wings, and he beat strongly against its tug, trying to regain a loftier elevation. Again and again he was pushed earthward all the while being diverted with each stroke of his wings, the heavy crosswind that was begining to tell of sand, keeping his goal out of reach.

03-05-2004, 11:59 AM	#130
Hilde Bracegirdle Relic of Wandering Days Join Date: Dec 2002 Location: You'll See Perpetual Change. Posts: 1,488	Thorn As Thorn steered for the course that his people were to follow this season, he wondered what he might find when he eventually reached them, hoping that they would be in a position to react quickly to his news. And after the grievous hindrance in Umbar he was not sure that the trouble he had learned of was not already close upon his heels. So he continued steadily through the heat, climbing higher to seek the cooler levels of the sky on his long journey. It might have been a daunting task for another to locate his people in the vast desert, but Thorn had a thorough knowledge of the trackless landscape and the path Ayar was following. Though where his kinsmen might be stationed on that path he was unsure. Even the remotest areas, where his foot had never touched were not unknown to him. For as a child he and a handful of others had been painstakenly trained, and as a young man he could navigate through the waste, using water sources as another might use stars, to direct his way. The hundreds of timeworn routes of his ancestors he held in his memory like the constellations joining those stars, each having their own names in his mother tongue. Though many he had never traveled himself, he could easily trace their path by rote in his mind, despite the ever-changing face of the desert. In the earlier days maps had been made of these things, depicting where life might be supportable. But at the end of the third age, as times grew more difficult , such meaningful information was closely guarded, with only a few of each generation becoming a living repository for the whole clan. And the maps fell into disuse, becoming dated they were eventually discarded. As it glided, the eagle noticed a persistent wind had risen out of the north. It was an ill omen, for it signified death in many a tale, and with good reason. Certainly it was hot enough for a storm to form, but hopefully he could reach the shelter of the camp before it overtook him. He wondered how far Ráma had gotten in her trek, grateful that she had not yet obtained a form. Perhaps she could find a refuge from a storm yet, in the villages surrounding Umbar. Suddenly a downdraft pulled Thorn back among rough, warmer levels, and he struggled to override his natural impulse to find some haven, as well the pull of the current itself. The bump and jostle of the wind becoming increasingly pronounced overtime beneath his great wings, and he beat strongly against its tug, trying to regain a loftier elevation. Again and again he was pushed earthward all the while being diverted with each stroke of his wings, the heavy crosswind that was begining to tell of sand, keeping his goal out of reach. Last edited by Hilde Bracegirdle; 03-08-2004 at 05:52 PM.