View Single Post
Old 03-05-2004, 04:18 PM   #131
piosenniel
Desultory Dwimmerlaik
 
piosenniel's Avatar
 
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,816
piosenniel is a guest of Tom Bombadil.
Rôg . . . on the road south . . .

Chirr . . . chirr . . . chirr – chirr . . . chirr . . . chirr . . . chirr . . .

‘Just practicing a bit,’ said Rôg, cocking his little chestnut capped head to eye the old man. Aiwendil, hearing the series of soft chirrs had turned his head toward the small brown bird that perched on the shoulder of his robe. ‘Have no idea, really, what it all means - just learned it to fit in with the rest of the flock should I need to,’ continued Rôg. Aiwendil’s bushy grey eyebrows raised, his blue eyes twinkling at the little feathered fellow as a soft chuckle escaped him. ‘Oh dear,’ twittered Rôg. He could feel the heat rising to his little cheeks. Thank goodness they were covered with down. He fluffed out his feathers and shook them to slough away his embarrassment. ‘I should have known better than to copy the calls I heard during mating season,’ he spluttered.

‘Are you certain we’re heading in the right direction?’ Aiwendil’s question brought a welcome change of subject. Rôg assured them that they were indeed heading toward the encampment that he’d seen last night. He’d fixed its position from the forms of the mountains he’d seen as he flew near them, the shapes of the higher peaks as they flowed downward into their foothills. The sands are always changing he told his companion, but the earth’s spine stands steady. And in his thoughts were the times he had come up along these mountains with his family and clan, heading for the seasonal trading bazaars further north, stopping along the way to trade at various encampments. ‘They should be heading home this time of year,’ he said quietly, thinking fondly of the little forest that lay near the sea.

~*~

The day was growing warmer as they plodded along. Rôg had argued, unsuccessfully, for staying at the little oasis where the caravan had stopped. ‘Better we travel at night,’ he had counseled his companion. But Aiwendil had a growing sense of urgency and would not be deterred.

The rising heat worried the younger man, as did the wind from the north which was beginning to pick up speed. ‘Speed and sand,’ he muttered, spitting a few grains from his beak. Aiwendil had pulled up his hood and the little bird now nestled close to his ear, within the cloak’s protective folds.

‘We are going too slowly,’ he told the older man. ‘The wind is rising with the heat. It picks up the loose debris as it goes. It will chase us with a wall of blinding sand and dirt soon.’ Rôg flew down to the area in front of the camel, the beast’s body blocking the wind somewhat. Assuming his human form he plucked two bandanas from his pack, and placing one atop the other, folded them in two, forming a large triangle of cloth. He bade Aiwendil dismount and pulling back his hood, tied the cloths over the bridge of the old man’s nose, tucking the tail well into the neck of Aiwendil’s robe. ‘It will keep the sand from clogging your nose and mouth,’ he explained, hurrying his companion to remount once again.

‘Hold on tightly, now,’ he ordered, ‘and follow my lead.’ Aiwendil looked down, a frown on his face. Rôg could see his lips moving behind the mask, but he waved him to silence as he handed up the camel’s reins. In the blink of a sandy eye, he changed to another form. This time a camel, twin to the one the old man rode.

The wind was beginning to sing; the grains of sand slashing through the air. Rôg looked to the north. In the distance, it had grown dark, and he knew the wall of sand would reach them soon. There only hope was to outrun it until they had reached some place of shelter, and then to wait it out. His mind cast quickly through the places he remembered from his youth. ‘No use,’ he said, knowing that the shifting sands would have covered and uncovered their little plots of grasses and scrubby bush many times over. His large lips curled back in a ghastly looking smile. ‘Of course!’ Like the bones of the earth, the ‘bones’ of what those Men left behind would not have moved.

‘Hold on!’ he shouted once more. Then opening his mouth wide he sank his long, broad yellowed teeth with a satisfying snap into the hindquarters of Aiwendil’s mount. Startled, the beast leapt forward and Rôg, taking care to stay very close, ran before them, leading the way. ‘Run! You great impish spawn of the desert!’ he hurled back at the wild-eyed camel, his own backside an enticing moving target for Aiwendil’s mount.

~*~

The sand stung at his heels as they neared the ancient fortress; the wind keened loudly, a deafening sound about to envelop them. Sunk in the years of drifting sands the fortress wall stood only shoulder high to him. As they cleared the opening, he turned sharply to the left, slowing his speed and then stopping where some old, broad towered structure thrust itself up, a tall broken sentinel in the sand. Changing once again back to his human form, he ordered Aiwendil’s mount down to his knees, pushing the camel's flank close beside the ancient stonework wall. Freeing the roll tied to the near side of the pack saddle, Rôg quickly pulled out two blankets. One he handed to Aiwendil, gesturing that he should pull it up over his head, like an extra cloak. The other he used to shelter himself.

Stinging sand filled the air, locking them now into its obscuring embrace. The camel lay with his head down, eyes closed, his left flank secure against the protective wall. The two men sat huddled together, their backs flat against the stone. Rôg had shouted above the sound of the wind for the old man to shut his eyes. But Aiwendil glanced quickly about at what he could see of the structure they were in. ‘Who built this?’ he asked, leaning in close to speak in Rôg’s ear. ‘The tall, fair Men,’ came the muffled reply. ‘From the West it is told. Long, long ago.’ He put his hand on his companion’s arm.

‘Now hush. Keep your head down. Breathe slowly. The Winged One willing, it will pass soon . . .’

Last edited by piosenniel; 03-08-2004 at 03:14 PM.
piosenniel is offline