[piosenniel]

Mus'ad and Nizar

. . . flap . . . wheeze . . . pant . . . pant . . . flap . . .

‘Oof!’ gasped the struggling pigeon as he strove to keep the sparrow in sight. The poor bird was knackered by this point, chuffing in desperation. His wings felt nearly beat to shreds in the increasing heat and movement of the rising thermals.

A strangled squawk escaped his parched throat as the sparrow took on another form and climbed higher. There was no hope now of keeping the quarry in sight as Tinar took off. In a moment of penetrating thought, indeed, brilliant insight, on Nizar’s part he reasoned that if he could just keep on with following the northmen he was bound to find Tinar . . . or so he hoped . . .

In the distance, he could just see the camels. They had slowed down a bit, come side by side as the riders passed a skin of water among themselves, and chewed on something one had taken from their pack. With a determination born of nothing other than he saw no other course open to him, he headed for the group of men.

‘Please, please, please,’ came the muttered mantra as he flew. ‘Don’t let them start up again until I can get nearer.’

And again, whatever favorable spirit had decided to tip the scales in the hapless brothers’ favor, Nizar saw them come to a complete halt and one of the riders dismount. ‘A call of nature!’ thought the little bird, his thoughts brightening. ‘Let’s hope he’s taken several long pulls at the water skin and will be a while.’

By the time the man remounted, Nizar had pulled close enough to catch up with the last camel as they started off again. Their backs were to him as he plummeted down, tail feathers all topsy-turvy. Changing midway into his beetle shape, he spread the thin membranes of his wings and shimmied down toward figure of the last rider. His legs caught on the man’s collar, wings brushing against the fellow’s neck. The rider jerked his head and flicked at the spot where something had grazed his skin. Nizar tumbled down the man’s back toward the pack secured to the side of the camel’s hump. The poor beetle fell thunk on his back, spindly legs waving wildly in the dark interior of the pack.

‘Quit yer scrabbling! Be quiet!’ hissed a low, familiar voice just to his right. Nizar blinked his buggy eye, bringing the shadowy figure better into focus.

‘Mus’ad!’ he chittered in relief. ‘Is that really you?’