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Old 09-21-2003, 07:48 PM   #30
Tinuviel of Denton
Ghost Prince of Cardolan
 
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Join Date: Mar 2003
Location: Amid the hills and dales of the Shire... or not.
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Sting

Hillmen

Kestrel often wished that she had been born a man, though never more so than now. It galled her that the warriors would go out and fight and she could do nothing to help. She hated feeling helpless, as if she were no stronger than her son. Oh, she knew that wasn't so, but still.

Knife was so placid about this whole thing; it was one of the many things that drove her crazy about the man. No matter what happened, he kept shoveling the thin stew into his mouth. Half the time he didn't even notice the herbs she put in it; the other half, he didn't comment. What he did notice was those times when there was no stew, which lack he usually remedied quickly.

Knife just wasn't much company to her, although her irascibility might have had something to do with the fact that he spent as much time as possible away from the hut and his family. Kestrel could be vicious in her criticism of her husband and ruthless in her correction of her children. But she did love them. Well, she loved the children at least. At night, she would cuddle with them in the corner of the hut, humming and gently brushing their hair with her fingers until they slept. Soon Flint would be too old for that; he was a boy, and as such would be expected to leave his mother's care behind as he learned to take his place among the warriors. She would miss her baby boy.

Wolf sat by the shabby hearth, staring into the flickering flames. Kestrel often heard people complain about Wolf's leadership, saying that Bear would probably be a better leader. Indeed, she heard a lot of things; no one paid any attention to a half-blind woman. She also knew that they didn't know what they were talking about when he complained about Wolf. She thought sometimes that Wolf felt about the people the way she felt about her children. Responsible for their welfare at the very least. He was a good leader; Bear could never do as well.

She sat down next to him; her feet hurt from walking about all day. That was how the end of her day usually was, with her eye stinging from the smoky hut and flickering light and her bad leg aching from the weight she had to put on it. Wolf’s shoulders were taut with the strain that he would never consciously let anyone see. She knew from past experience that he would not want her to try to ease him; he wouldn’t even want her to see that he was tired. She supposed that it felt like a slur on his manhood or some silly thing like that; men were like that. Especially important men it seemed.

“Wolf?” she tried. If he was really tired, he wouldn’t even answer her. If he wasn’t too tired, he might tell her a few things that the men would talk about in that meeting later. She, being a woman, would of course have to absent herself from that. Cooking and gathering was women’s work; fighting and hunting was for the men, though Kestrel sometimes thought that she could do at least as well as certain men, possibly better.

She said his name again, and he grunted in acknowledgement. Encouraged, she asked, “What are you going to do about those cursed Dunedáin? They can’t just come in and think they can take over.”

Wolf nodded. “We’ll fight them. That’s all.”

“There aren’t too many of them then, are there? If we are going to fight them, I mean.”

Wolf nodded, but his expression didn’t change, which meant that there probably were too many of them, but he didn’t want to tell her that.

“Do you think we’ll win?”

He didn’t answer, which meant that he probably didn’t think they would. It was odd how she could read his silences and half-answers. Maybe it was because she’d lived with him and his brother for five years now. She thought that maybe she knew him as well as any woman could know him. It would take a man to really know him though, because she could never understand hunting or fighting as long as she wasn’t allowed to do those things. And those were an important part of Wolf.

She sighed inaudibly, and looked again at her brother-in-law. She could see the tension in his shoulders hadn’t relaxed any, and she searched for some way to make him feel better without being too obvious.

Rain was humming some little tune and Flint sat in the corner, playing with his tiny ‘spear’ which was nothing of the sort. He was stabbing a little piece of leather that had a rabbit’s head drawn on it over and over again. Kestrel thought that maybe she saw a little smile hover on Wolf’s face when he glanced in their direction, especially at Flint.

“Can I tell you something Wolf?”

He grunted.

“I haven’t even told Knife yet, but I think I’m pregnant. I can’t be completely sure, but—I think so.” She searched for a sign in his face that he was pleased as he suddenly turned toward her. There was a little smile on his face, though, more overt than before, and he was just a little more relaxed. She was absurdly delighted to see him less worried, though she was sure that some of that worry was now for her unborn child. He was really a wonderful uncle and she sometimes thought that he should have married and had a few of his own children, but of course, being the leader he couldn’t do that.

That was when Knife returned, and Wolf was again thinking only of what he had to do for the entire village.

[ September 22, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]
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