We march. Endless and unchanging, we march to war. The mumakil lead of
course, with the officers from the nobility astride them. As a simple
craftsman, I march behind. The mumakil leave their droppings and we in
ranks must take care not to step in them. The march goes on.
With me march others of my class. Ahmond the Jeweler is several ranks ahead of me. His son often plays with my daughter, at home where we belong. Ahmond and I have made plans for them to marry once the war is over.
Next to me marches Takat the Tailor, my best friend in all the world. He catches my eye and smiles.
"You are quiet, friend Kujan. Think you we will see battle soon?" he asks.
"I am certain we will. We must ride through Ithilien on our way to accursed Gondor. Their Rangers will not suffer us to pass lightly," I reply.
Takat nods in agreement. "I hear they ride demon steeds that breathe fire and eat the souls of men," he comments.
I snort. "You pay too much attention to the tales of the bards."
My friend laughs. "Ah yes, flights of fancy are not to your liking. Lisel complains of it often to Sorchet," he teases me.
I wish he would not mention our wives. I miss my Lisel with a physical ache. Ah, Lisel, sweetest flower in our land! Your hair is like unto the raven's wing, your skin the silken brown of sweet tea, your eyes golden as new honey. Golden eyes are rare among our people, yet yours shine only for me. I would give anything to be home with you now, with you and our daughter. Instead, I march while Takat chatters unheard beside me.
With me march others of my class. Ahmond the Jeweler is several ranks ahead of me. His son often plays with my daughter, at home where we belong. Ahmond and I have made plans for them to marry once the war is over.
Next to me marches Takat the Tailor, my best friend in all the world. He catches my eye and smiles.
"You are quiet, friend Kujan. Think you we will see battle soon?" he asks.
"I am certain we will. We must ride through Ithilien on our way to accursed Gondor. Their Rangers will not suffer us to pass lightly," I reply.
Takat nods in agreement. "I hear they ride demon steeds that breathe fire and eat the souls of men," he comments.
I snort. "You pay too much attention to the tales of the bards."
My friend laughs. "Ah yes, flights of fancy are not to your liking. Lisel complains of it often to Sorchet," he teases me.
I wish he would not mention our wives. I miss my Lisel with a physical ache. Ah, Lisel, sweetest flower in our land! Your hair is like unto the raven's wing, your skin the silken brown of sweet tea, your eyes golden as new honey. Golden eyes are rare among our people, yet yours shine only for me. I would give anything to be home with you now, with you and our daughter. Instead, I march while Takat chatters unheard beside me.