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Raining Bunnies (Three Horses and an Ass TP)

Tags: Findon,  Menelglir,  Aurfaen,  Sulgirion

Short Summary: In which two friends meet after a long time, and...is that wildlife raining from the sky?
Date (real-life): 2009-12-10
Scene Location: East Road, east of Weathertop

East Road - East of Weathertop
A tall hill stands to the west, ragidly surrounded by hedges and lone scrub pine. North of it low hills peak out of the light growth. To the south, barren hills lie naked beneath the sky, with only thicket and brush to keep them company. The road itself looks less than oft traveled, as it rolls east, and from here slightly north east, towards more mountainous areas.
Gondorian Wagon
Obvious exits:
West and East

============== Lord of the Rings Calendar <in English> ==============
IC time is:    Twilight < About 9:24 PM >
IC day is:     Friday
IC date is:    August 25
Earendil:      Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is:    Third Age 3048
RL time:        Thu Dec 10 13:48:19 2009

The faint pearls of the stars are beginning to poke out through the darkening sky, and the grey veil of twilight descends over the barren hills nigh to the ancient Weathertop in the West. Here, to the East over the Great Road, the coming night is still, and eerily silent. The sparse foliage looms up like foreboding fingers, unwelcoming to any travelers who would be on the path this time of dwindling evening.

High above, a large shape stands against the pale moon, occassionally casting its great shadow over her bright face. A sharp hazel gaze peers downward from what would be the figure's head, and the Eagle--for indeed it is the enormous cousin of the nightengale--coasts on the cold breeze. Below, a small black speck, undiscernable by normal sight, claims the avian's attention: a camp it would appear, far away on the earth.

One tiny dot of light does come from the camp--a campfire, small and built in a pit in the ground so as to throw as little light as possible. Over this stands Menelglir, warming his hands and watching the embers of the fire slowly die. He glances up to the surrounding road and woods anxiously and then to the fire again, but his gaze does not travel to the sky. Not yet.

[Aurfaen(#16622)] "At ease, Squire?" a female voice murmurs lightly; the young Ranger Aurfaen steps into the warm little circle of firelight, hardly enough to warm her. Her ash grey eyes don't chase up to the sky yet to see the stars, though like Menelglir, they do skim the dark, foreboding boundaries of the wood here.

The luminous light of the campfire dances in the piercing eyes from the heavens, and the huge head of the bird turns as it peers out toward the surrounding lands; but all seems well, for nothing else can be seen creeping in the dark. Naught to fear for the time being.

The majestic wings tilt slightly then, and the form of Sulgirion begins to slowly spiral toward Arda, the gentle current bearing him lower and lower. A shrill squawk sounds from hooked beak drifting toward those bound to the earth below.

"As much as could be expected," said Squire answers, looking to the Ranger's arrival with a smile. "Thinking on questions that Hir Gwendion posed to me--nay, charged me with answering truthfully. Tis a useful exercise--it keeps my mind from..."

A squawk splits the night and Menelglir jumps up suddenly, looking skyward, tense.

[Aurfaen(#16622)] "What sorts of questions?" Aurfaen asks, her grey eyes wide and interested. Firelight playing across her features, she doesn't look so frightened yet, even this close to the bridge where perhaps a troll still waits. "I like riddles," she adds hopefully. "I know this funny one from the tavern in Bree, about a man who-" it isn't so much the sudden bird cry that makes the young Ranger flinch, but rather Menelglir's jump.

Her grin widens. "At ease indeed," the girl mutters with great affection. She, too, looks skyward now.

And again the raptor's call comes forth, this time lower and softer now that the bird has caught sight of the startled reaction beneath; the voice drifts downward, mingling with the night wind, seeking to convey a returning sense of peace to the young Squire's heart and mind.

Sulgirion continues in his course, and as he nears the grasses of the camp, the golden wings give a mighty flap--held at an angle to prevent from extinguishing the fire. As with the day before, the avian lands with a grace far too deft for his titanic size; the talons grip the soil, and the feathered arms are folded carefully on either side. The bright head dips in greeting to the two seated around the flickering campfire."Do not be alarmed," rings the voice, wild but at the same time comforting. "You are safe for now; mine eyes do not spy anything nigh that would pose a threat to you or your company."

Sulgirion settles himself not too far from the fire as well, and the light glints off eyes and talons as he turns to regard Menelglir's friend. "Ah, another one of your camp? I believe we have not met as of yet?"

As the great eagle approaches, Menelglir's stance relaxes visibly, though standing he remains still. "Rider of the Winds, we welcome you again," he greets formally. "Good news it is to hear that this night holds no terrors for us. As for this woman...yes, another of our camp, but different even so." He smiles briefly and gestures to Aurfaen, letting her introduce herself.

"Indeed different," remarks Sulgirion as he fixes his hazel stare upon the lady. A curious silence intrudes, and the bird cocks his large head to the side, in order to get a better look at the other. The feathered sides move up and down softly in his breathing, and the golden brow would seem to furrow slightly, as though seemingly trying very hard to remember something. He waits for the woman to speak then.

[Aurfaen(#16622)] Happiness and excitement light the Ranger's young features as the graceful eagle descends. Of course, a glance is shot to Menelglir, and she wonders, "Again? What do you mean, again?" But the voice of this Eagle triggers a memory, and Aurfaen steps a little closer, venturing with a quick bow of respect, "Out here, I am called Bunny...a Ranger, and the guide for these men, as they intend to cross through the Trollshaws," she explains. The Dunedain's smile widens, and then she gives him a similar sort of wondering, puzzled glance.

"I came upon your camp the morning prior, but some of you had already retired inside the wagon. I met young Masters Menelglir here"--the head nods to the squire--"and Findon. After a length I promised to watch over your progression from the skies, and to ward off any evil so long as it is in my power to do so; I intend to keep that promise."

And the great raptor becomes quiet once more as the lady steps forward, and Sulgirion listens intently the her words. The eyes retain their scrutuny, and then they brighten, this time not simlply due to the fire nearby. "Bunny?" the laugh flows from the open beak: a noise rough and eaglish in its resonance. "I seem to recall...yes, I remember now!" the mighty avian shifts closer a little, and flaps a wing in happiness. "We have met upon a time, have we not? I believe so. I am called Sulgirion, Wind-Sailor, in the Sindarin tongue. And indeed, it is a name known in the Hidden Valley, though I have not been there in a long time."

"You...you know each other, then?" Menelglir stutters, his mouth opening in surprise as he looks from avian to woman. "And this valley..." The Squire's brows draw together, sea-grey eyes hard upon the woman. "Is this the land you told me of? Where you were fostered?"

[Aurfaen(#16622)] There is an intake of breath, and then a cry of delight from Aurfaen, who exclaims, "Sulgirion! Of course I remember!" The young Ranger smiles from ear to ear, reaching out a hand as though she'd give the Eagle an affectionate pat. "Where have you been? I miss home; I haven't been in quite a long time, either," the Dunedain girl explains. "It is my first year...out on my own." Of course, she isn't so very alone right now, and she turns to look at Menelglir again. "Yes, one and the same," Aurfaen confirms with a nod. "I wish you could see it, Menelglir."

The young Ranger's hand is not left lonesome, and the giant hooked beak is lowered a little more so that the slender fingers can touch its smooth surface. The great stormy eyes shimmer, as if in mirth after finding a long lost friend. "I have been away on business of my own, little one; the high-roads of the heavens summons me from time to time," Sulgirion replies to Aurfaen, and his gaze blinks as he lets it rove over her green-cloaked and muddied form.

"Though it would appear you are not so small a Bunny anymore," a new chuckles rises from his feathered chest. "Your first year? I hope you have been seeing after yourself; it is dangerous here, even on the border of the Wild." He turns to Menelglir then. "Yes, it is a lovely land. Full of laughter and merriment. A wonderful place to heal from injury or weariness, as I have myself oft done."

Shocked, the Squire stands, watching with his mouth still open as girl and bird speak as old friends. "I...she..." he licks his lips, the words faltering against the rare sight right in front of him.

"She should not be out here alone!" he blurts out, though. "Tis dangerous! She could get hurt!" he says protectively, almost scolding the bird. "She -has- been hurt!"

[Aurfaen(#16622)] Her smile still brilliant, Aurfaen rubs the Eagle's beak. "But you shouldn't stay away -so- long, next time!" the Dunedain girl protests. "We missed your company." She grins and tells Sulgirion, "Not small, but very much the same! And...well, I did get shot in the leg. Orc's arrow- but- Menelglir was there, and he killed the thing. And I am trying my hardest to be careful, and do what my father did.."

Suddenly, Bunny turns, looking once more at Menelglir, her lips parting in surprise at the words. Her long braids of raven hair swing against her back as she turns, and it can be seen that she's blushing. "It wasn't the worst injury a person could have, and you saved me!" Aurfaen reminds the Squire through her embarassment.

The abrupt shouting of the Squire draws the focus of the avian's attention then; yet the feathers on his golden-crowned head do not ruffle, and the look Menelglir is cast remains calm. "Yes, it is dangerous," Sulgirion acknowlodges. "But her choice is her own. If she wishes to follow in the steps of her father, then her heart will not be detered."

A bronze brow seems to quirk at the scolding. "I could very well remove her from this perilous place, but it would not be my position to do so; neither would she go willing nor stay away for long. Besides," the bird's head tilts, "you are with her, and judging by what Bunny says, you have not let her down as of yet. Friends are right in watching over each other. I do not doubt your heart, and you must have proven yourself trustworthy and able to wield arms with skill, to have made it thus far from your own land."

"And if I had not been there? Then what?" Squire directs to the Ranger, though he quickly adds, quietly, "though if not for us she would not have been here at all." Menelglir now, in turn, reddens just slightly, shaking his head in denial as he looks up to listen to the eagle.

"Friends, I suppose. Do friends bring others into danger and death with them? What kind of friendship is that?"

"I have but small skill with arms," he denies further. "I am taught well and follow the lead of those with such skill, those whom I trust."

A snort at that, over yonder, and the ringing hiss of stone against steel ceases for a moment.

"My wrist is still sore when strained, I'll have you know." 'tis Findon's quiet voice that speaks thus, seated crosslegged over yonder with his sword on his lap and sharpening stone in his hand, in a dry tone.

And then the hissing continues.

"Ah, but indeed you were there, and that alone made the difference," answers the Eagle. "Danger and death? Why speak you of such things? You cannot tell me that she was forced to travel with you. You do not lead her unto a fell end - her fate is her own, known beforehand only by One."

Sulgirion shifts slightly then, and the firelight glints off his feathers. "Regardless of any skill of arms, you protected her. It is not the edge of a sword that counts in the end, but the strength of one's heart."

The bird looks to Findon then. "I would think it would, dear Squire. Though I would not know myself." A quick glance is given to his wrist-less wings.

"For that, dear brother," Menelglir calls back with some amusement in his voice now, "you gave as well as you got, I dare say. But lest you forget, I still need lessons in protecting my left side from the bite of the blade, whether it be the flat or, as our lovely brief prisoner proved, the point."

A quiet nod, granted then, to the eagle. "I hope so...I try so, in regard to heart. But who can say?"

"Still...danger and death we do face, and my task is to present a plan to Hir Gwendion. Though that matter is made easier somewhat by your nobly offered aid."

Again, the hissing pauses momentarily, and the comments are in turn answered with only a gleam of teeth in the gloom in token of Findon's grin; secluded as he is, in the shadow.

But he says no more for the nonce, focused on his work.

A nod is given to Menelglir. "I shall do my best to keep my promise to your company," says Sulgirion. "But as you yourself stated, 'who can say?' My keen eyes see far and wide, and yet the enemy has been unpredictable more than once. The goblins are clever, if they can get past their lack of organization in these lands. Let us be thankful they have no better Head to direct their malice."

The titanic avian spreads wide his wings then, and takes a pace back. "I think I will take my leave from your side for a time, Menelglir," the bird says, and the head rises to indicate the skies. "I do not want to be away from my vigil for too great a length. Also, I shall see what I can hunt. How are your stores? I can bring back food if you are in need of it."

"If the enemy is clever, then we shall be more so," Menelglir answers. "Eyes and wits and ears--we all do what we can. And heart, as you said," he adds with a quick smile.

Eyes widened at the offer of food, the Squire glances quickly over his shoulder toward the other Blue, squinting in the growing gloom for a reaction and yet likely not seeing any, for he turns back, confused. "We...hunting is not a luxury we can take on this journey, and our progress is slowed by the beast on the road ahead...." Still, he does not outright say that they need food. Perhaps his lean and hungry look says it for them.

"Then I shall stay near," reassures the Eagle, his sharp sight not having missed the half-starved look in the other's countenance, "and away from the monster who lurks ahead. If we are to pass 'its' bridge than we had best not give it any early indication of our approach. I will bring back any game I can find."

The golden wings unfurl then, and he turns again to aim the blast of air away from the direction of the roaring flames. With a large flap, the great creature rises into the night; soon Sulgirion's shape is but another shadow that melts into those of the darkness.

A step or two does Menelglir stumble back, shaking his head in wonderment and disbelief as the great beast soars into the sky. Then he sinks back to the fire and the task at hand, whatever that happens to be this evening.

"Menelglir," Findon says quietly, as soon as the wind of the Eagle's takeoff passes, work never ceasing.

"You wished to talk?"

The younger Squire's answer is to twist around, peering again into the growing darkness. A nod of his head, but he first banks the last embers of the fire before he stands and crosses to Findon.

"Yes, actually. A plan for this troll--I am tasked with coming up with ideas, though..." he grins,"help is allowed."


An audible exhale through the nose, but not quite a snort. "Well, you have some wits about you. This should be no different than having a nap in the stables during duty, or trading a kiss for sweet words," Findon muses, pausing the whetstone only to flip the blade; beginning anew on the other edge. All this on a dry note, levied from smiling lips, "Though, I suppose the risk of being caught shall have to slim."

"Any ideas yet, brother?"

"I did not..!" the younger objects, protest cut abruptly short. "It..it was not like that..!" is the second attempt, but again this is left off, though ire simmers in Menelglir's eyes.

A snort, and having taken offense, he crosses his arms over his chest and moves a pace toward the other direction when he stops, sighing loudly.

"The eagle, harrowing the thing from above while we attack below with blades and...rush through and forward? A desperate plan it would seem..and only if we must cross at night. Which we must not."

This exhale seems derived from mirth, "Peace. I am not soiling your honor."

Is Findon not, now?

Well, perhaps not in earnest at least. But a silence gains foothold for a pair of strokes of the stone; and then, having perhaps given the strategy some though, Findon answers: "Indeed. But perhaps we must needs cross under rain, or an otherwise overcast sky, in which case this olog's absence is no longer a certainty; if it is in daylight even. Some thought must be given to prudence."

A pause, and a stroke. "What of trickery then? Have you not considered that?"

A sharp look is Findon's reward for his denial, though Menelglir frowns and moves ahead with the topic at hand. "Trickery? No...this I had not considered."

He falls silent, watching Findon. "To distract the troll from a potential meal, meaning us? A mock attack, perhaps? A threat to the troll somehow?"

"We might distract it with a meal, perhaps," Findon says musingly, "Our winged friend is a clever hunter, no?"

A sigh then.

"No, we have a duty in this, I reckon. It must be made to fear the road, and those that use it," He goes on, whilst replacing the whetstone with a strap of leather. "We should have spears, or forgoing that, lances such as we can craft of wood."

"A mounted charge would serve us better, whilst our eagle friend harry it from above as you say, would it not?"

"A mounted charge...our horses are up to it, but lances--can we craft such? and would what we craft stand against such a beast, which seemed large enough to pull trees out by their very roots? How could mere branches withstand such a thing, even driven by the force of a horse charge?"

Menelglir shakes his head, rejecting this option. "A direct attack will not work. The Ranger said the trolls are stupid, but make up for it in strength. So we must attack its stupidity, as such. What would it value--what would make it think twice about attacking us?"

"Branches?" Findon quirks a brow at this, pausing in his work to lend the other squire a sidelong look. "Not proper wood for lances, that. Do not so quickly dismiss the power of a warhorse, or indeed a sharp point delivered by one. But yea," He says, sighing evenly with the last admition, "There is little wood for it in these parts, and we have no points to attach besides. I concede." He turns an eye do the longsword then, "Do you suppose it can swim?"

"How wide and deep are the waters under the bridge?"

At that moment, there is a soft thud by Menelglir's feet as something shoots down from overhead and hits the grass. While it would have been only a white blur in its brief flight, now the thing sits on the ground: it is the small body of a pure white hare, limp and lifeless. But it is not alone.

For then the heavens seem to rain with a motley assortion of wildlife; down comes mice, rabbits, moles, and other fresh game. A familiar screech rends the air, and the faint form of the Eagle can be seen skyward, as Sulgirion passes in front of the moon, his wings framed in the pale light again. That done, the bird returns his gaze to his faithful watch, bright gold orbs set to observe the bleak terrain of the Weather Hills.

At the somewhat grotesque rain, Findon appears none too startled.

"Pray give that some thought. For now, it appears dinner is served," He grunts.

Date added: 2009-12-11 02:52:53    Hits: 63
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