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Spear Suspicions

Tags: Brev,  Hraefengar,  Nurenhir,  Sulgirion

Short Summary: Hraefengar returns from a hunt, and is tended by Nurenhir for his hurts. Meanwhile, Brev heals the Eagle's spear-wound. Was not the Rohir hunting with a spear? Naturally, some suspicions arise..
Date (real-life): 2010-04-15
Scene Location: Shepherding Village
Time of Day: dawn


[Brev(#30997)] Morn has come to the Trollshaws. The lightening of the sky to the east heralds the dawn of a new day, although heavy banks of grey cloud wrapped around the mountain peaks obscure the sun from view. The Shepherding village lies quiet, many of its inhabitants still dozing, but some few have already risen and are going about their daily tasks.

Amongst the early risers, Brev. The man has not headed toward the central hearth but rather is crouched above a pile of twigs and leaves by the half-built wall that delineates the place, trying to wake a tiny fire to life. Beside him is his pack. Aside from occasional glances toward the place where the animals are picketed, he appears to be ignoring the rest of the world.

Birds are often the first few creatures awake in the early morning hours, and the Great Eagles of the Misties are no expection; the lack of a mountain peak has been made up for, and Sulgirion perches on a particularly sturdy piece of the half-built stone wall that encompasses this town. Though he stands quite still, it is clear he is not sleeping any longer, for the large amber eyes are open. In the manner all avians of his race do, the raptor occassionally shifts his head this way and that, often peering into the skies above. Brev is nearby, but he has so far left the lad to his own business. Only now a low squawk is given in greeting.

There is the solid sound of metal splitting wood. Yet it is not some dwarf gone to build the walls or a Man attempting to raise a beam, but Nurenhir. He stands to the edge of the village green, sleeves rolled up to forearms, a rough axe held in one hand. In front of him is a steadily dimishing pile of firewood that has, somehow, escaped the burning. Or, perhaps, it has been newly gathered.

A squawk echoes in the chilly dawn -- the Elf raises his head sharply, then smiles at the large, familiar form of Sulgirion.

Comes also the sound of a horse's hooves, and Hraefengar walks into the village, fully awake but weary-looking, limping some. He is wearing an old tunic and leggings, and both are blood-spattered. The stallion that walks beside him pulls a travois, and on it is a boar sow and some piglets that will not see their first year. He closes his eyes and sighs, then stumbles the rest of the way into the village.

[Brev(#30997)] Brev's head is bent as he focuses on piling more twigs atop the part-burnt stick that he has used to kindle the little fire, blowing gently to encourage the flames to take hold. At the squawk his shoulders tense visibly, though he does not look up. It is some time before he sits back on his heels, satisfied with his work, and turns to face the winged form. "Still .. want that cut looked at?" His voice is slightly hoarse. The chill of the morning, perhaps? "I could do with more wood." He stands, apparently to head toward the wood-splitter, but the motion stops after just a couple of steps. He turns to regard the newcome Hraefengar and stares, frowning. "Kiern! Competition, was it?"

Sulgirion does not reply immediately, instead turning his unblinking gaze and head toward the Rohir as he and his steed approach. Without moving his neck toward Brev as he moves near Nurenhir, the eagle lets his sideview focus back on the Dunlending. "It would be great if you could still do so," he says. "But I shall be content to wait if another's injuries prove worse off." The golden head dips to indicate Hraefengar.

The Elf's slender brows rise in concern, flickering from Eagle to Dunlending to Rohir (and his prizes). "Goodness," he says softly, hurrying to the side of the last and holding out an arm to support Hraefengar. "I did not know the hunger for meat was so strong in this camp ... does anyone know a healer?"

"Competition?" Hraefengar shakes his head, though he leans greatfully against the elf. "Most of the blood is, I think, not mine. Dealfyr needed better fodder, so we went seeking some. Near a little brook the sow charged. Fortune favored that I had my spear out... and so she became my prey instead of me hers. The litter... well, suckling pig is good, and they do not readily survive cold. So..." He winces. "So here they are."

[Brev(#30997)] Brev jerks his attention back toward the Eagle, and gives an impatient shake of his head. "Might help if I at least knew what I was dealing with," he says tightly, seemingly abandoning the quest for more wood for now. "'Sides, he won't want /me/ to touch him." One side of his mouth lifts in a wry half-smile as he approaches the great bird and demands, again with that odd hoarseness, "Show me. Won't hurt you - yet."

Thus it is that Nurenhir's question goes unanswered. Surely not on purpose?

Almost unwillingly his gaze returns to Hraefengar when the man speaks, and he offers up grudging praise: "You did well." His brows crease in afterthought and he adds, casually, just before he turns back to the mighty bird that is now so uncomfortably close, "You kept your spear?"

The mention of hunting in the Shaws with spears, sets an odd look into the avian's eyes, and yet again his attention is aimed anew, this time returning to the human with the horse. "You were seeking prey with spears?" inquires Sulgirion, tone betraying no emotion; but the strange gleam in his glance remains. Perhaps it is suspicion? "In the early hours of night I too hunted in the dark forest."

Nodding without removing his stare, the eagle stoops as much as he can without toppling over on the Dunlending. The hurt 'shoulder' is still a good deal above the lad's head, but there might be visible the mark of the wound. Bleeding has almost ceased all together. "It was caused by a spear, thrown in the dark. I did not see from whence it came."

"Nay. I was sleeping in the early night. I only woke in the dim before dawn, and went then. I wanted grass early so that I could dry it as hay all day. I took my spear in wariness of trolls. It is some use against them, if not much. My spear I still have." Hraefengar sways then, and he shakes his head. "I would not hurt any creature needlessly. The Dunlending can vouch for this."

The Elf's eyes are bright with caution as they regard the hunt. "The suckling pig will be good," he agrees, "but for the meantime, I must ask that you sit." Nurenhir tugs upon the Rohir's sleeve, attempting to lead him to a log where he may sit.

"Have you need of bandages?" he asks of Brev, searching in a pack beneath his cloak. "I have some, but I am not a healer myself..."

[Brev(#30997)] Brev grunts as the injured shoulder is proffered. He stretches up a hand, then pulls it back, shaking his head. "Can't see," he mutters. Then, frowning, "Looks clean. Still, never hurts to be sure. You'll need to come down from yon wall if I'm to seal it. And where's the spear now? Did it have barbs? Those need cut out.

At Hraefengar's words he glances round, features carefully blank. "I'm alive, if that's what you mean," he says carelessly. "Which proves nothing except that I'm useful. I Intend to stay that way." At Nurenhir's question he shakes his head. "I wouldn't know how to begin." He nods uncomfortably toward the huge avian shape. "But maybe you could ..." A jerk of his head indicates Hraefengar.

"It might require additional bandages," Sulgirion supplies to Nurenhir, and he flexes the wing. Another bob of his great head, and the avian makes a careful hop from his perch to stand on the ground. He stoops forward once more, trying to move lower so that Brev may more easily reach. "Perhaps if you were to climb on the wall and stand?"

"The spear I cast aside, for it was broken asunder when I has finished with loosing it. Barbs? If small points is what you mean, then indeed it bore those." The amber eyes have grown less tense following Hraefengar's repsonse, and it looks as if the suspicious gleam has gone.

[Hraefengar(#30729)] Hraefengar nods his head, and he follows the Elf, sitting down upon the log. His left leg drags a little, and he winces as he lowers himself. "I... can show you my spear, if you wish to see," says the Rohir. "But it has no barbs, for it is not for hunting. It is for fighting orcs, and would be fair useless if I had to struggle to pull it back after every one." His eyes glaze a little, and he presses his hand to his hip.

Nurenhir's frown deepens, and he sets aside a small satchel. "Here are some herbs and bandages you may find useful," he says to Brev. Then he turns to Hraefengar. "Wait here. I shall fetch you the soup that was on the fire, and one of my kin who knows more of healing than I do."

[Brev(#30997)] Brev nods at the Eagle's suggestion, and is opening his mouth for a response when the mighty bird speaks again. What comes out is a single word in curt, guttural Dunael that has the cadence of a curse to it. He draws several breaths before speaking again, slowly and carefully. "Then I'll need to search the wound. It will hurt - badly." The hoarseness has crept back into his voice. "Were you a man I'd tie you down to stop you thrashing. As it is ..." His lips are set in a thin line as he pulls a small blade rom his own pack and sets it to heat at the little fire. Nurenhir's satchel is pawed through almost blindly, though at one particular bunch of herbs he stops and sniffs. "Suppose it can't do any harm ..." he murmurs thoughtfully.

Hraefengar is given an absent shake of the head. "If it's not barbed, not much use me looking. Won't tell me the pattern. 'Sides," he pauses and his lips quirk suddenly, "I'd as sooner not see your spear at close quarters. /Either/ spear." There is a sudden note of amusement in his voice, though when he retrieves the small knife his features grow sombre.

"Nay," the eagle shakes his head to the Rohir, being mindful to not bump the Dunlending nearby in the process. "I would not ask you to show your weapon..forgive me, for I was wary when you mentioned spears and hunting. My kin seek equine prey from time to time upon your lands, and of this I am likewise not blameless. Flying spears in greeting are wont to occur in those situations."

Then the large bright eyes are fixed upon Brev, silently watching as the Man heats the knife. "Then I shall do my best to hold still. It cannot be much worse than having a troll..'kindly' relieving you of tail feathers."

"I admit that, were you hunting horses in the Mark, I might attack you," says the Rohir. "For our horses are as kind to us, more than mere livestock. They are almost as close as our children. Almost. So... to have them hunted as prey... it pains us deeply. For it is not a loss of property, but of a friend. A companion." Hraefengar winces, then eyes Brev. "I shall not show you either spear," he snorts. "I was seeking to reassure the wind-lord." A soft laugh, though the sound is tight and pained.

[Brev(#30997)] Brev's brows shoot up at Sulgirion's response. "No, I suppose not," he agrees drily. "Never experienced that myself." Hraefengar's speech brings a slight frown to his brow, but it is pensive rather than irritable. Almost, he makes answer .. in the end he does not.

Words at an end for now, he climbs up onto the wall, bandages and herbs tucked under his arm and knife gripped in one hand. Having found a reasonably secure perch, he peers closely at the wound, lifting a hand to examine the flesh beneath the feathers, and nods. Then he grits his teeth and leans forward so that the little knife may do its work - deftly, if not gently: probing, digging at one particular spot...

"It is a pity indeed that the need for hunger forces a boundary between your people and mine," admits Sulgirion, but his words stop as Brev gets to work. The black tipped beak is clasped firmly shut, the neck still stooped, though perhaps more so as the pain comes. One taloned foot scrapes a few marks into the soil beneath; but the enormous bird manages to remain fairly motionless. For now.

[Brev(#30997)] Brev grunts and flicks something black out onto a wad of bandage-cloth already speckled with dark stains. "Got the bu- uh, the barb," he amends swiftly, teeth still clenched, as he uses another wad of bandage to staunch the blood-flow. His movements are jerky, wary, as though he expected to be knocked to the ground at any minute. "Don't think there's more. Just need to seal it. Then I can rub on some herbs, help keep the rot away."
'Sealing' is easier said than done - a simple thrust of a knife into the flame must in this case become a slither down from the wall and a long wait followed by a mad scramble up before the heated blade is pressed suddenly against avian flesh. "Now..." is the only warning given before the new pain is inflicted.

Seal, herbs, rot -- the eagle listens, happy to put mind's attention on something other than the unpleasant sensations that are shooting all over the top of his wing. He does give a nod of understanding, but it quickly stiffens, tensing once more beneath the fresh wave of pain. The cut is still sore from the de-barbing, and the huge curved claws resume their tearing up at the earth, this time a little more violent. Sulgirion makes an involuntary movement to one side, ere he determindely settles again.

[Brev(#30997)] Brev, leaning forward, is caught off-balance by the sudden jerk and lurches. His hand grasps at air, then catches at stone and holds; the little knife arcs gracefully over the wall to land in the ditch. Brev, once he's regained his seat and his composure, glances down and utters another of those curt, expletive-like words, then shrugs. "Done now," he manages to utter in Sulgirion's direction, Hraefengar seemingly forgotten for the moment. "Only the herbs left." The bunch of green plant that Brev had brought up earlier is crushed by the simple expedient of dagger-hilt against stone, then smeared gingerly across the wound. The pungent, rather pleasant smell of thyme fills the air. Roast chicken, anyone?

Roast chicken? Alas, any who hunger for thus will have to be disappointed then.

As the last bits of treatment are applied, Sulgirion relaxes the wing a bit, though he does not yet rise. "Does it require bandaging? Or will the open air be better for its healing?" His gaze flickers up to glance at Hraefengar's resting form and then around after a length of staring at the rended ground by his feet.

[Brev(#30997)] Brev swallows at that. "Normally I'd bandage, keep the dirt out, but ... given the size you are, and the size I am," his gaze focuses on that rended ground and darts swiftly away again, "don't think I'd manage. Try not to move it more than you have to." The hoarseness creeps in again, and he clears his throat.
"Going to have to get that knife. Handy tool, I'd as soon not lose it. I'll ask someone to stop by with food," and now his gaze does take in exhausted man as well as mighty bird. "Figure it's bacon for breakfast. And dinner. And next day's breakfast too. Better than porridge, eh?"
He forces a grin, then slides down from the wall to toss the bloodied linen into the flames of the little fire. As he crosses the village to head for the gates and the tortuous route into the encircling ditch, he is muttering doubtfully,

"Lets hope their womenfolk know how to make blood sausage ..."


Date added: 2010-04-16 11:39:08    Hits: 83
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