![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
http://lost-spook.livejournal.com/465693.html
Robin Of Sherwood; Nasir
Fandom: Robin Of Sherwood
Characters: Nasir
Gen, c. 1900 words
Forest Creatures
He awoke with the birds, as he always did now. Once there been the call to prayer, echoing across his village, and later his encampment. The joint rising of his people, answering the musical call, going together to pray. Now there was just him, springing to life with the first notes of birdsong, and heading alone into the forest. The outlaw camp moved often, but always there had to be water, so it was not hard to wash; and the rising sun told him which way was east. He even had a prayer mat of sorts – woven out of rushes in one of the quieter moments, between battles, skirmishes and escapes. There were not many such quiet moments – lately even less so – but he knew to make use of them. He had learned that during the war, back in his own land, long before he had ever come here.
It was a strange place, this land called England. A place of rich lords who claimed to be French, yet were also Englishmen, and peasants and serfs who were also English, and hated the supposedly foreign lords. A land of rain and greenery, and icy winters when snow lay thick upon the ground. He knew the cold – had known it in the desert, in the dead of night, when the fiery heat of the day had abated – but this was a different sort of cold. A creeping, insidious, wet sort of cold, that made a man shiver just to remember it. Thankfully they were half a year away from it just now.
Prayers done, he did not return to camp. He had a mind to be alone a little longer yet. Robin would be awake by now, and Tuck as well, busy arranging breakfast, and no doubt singing at the top of his voice. Much and Will would sleep longer, and John would pretend to, stretched out upon the hard ground, with his giant boots close to the fire. Marion would be awake as well, risen with Robin, and gone off alone to wash. Never too far away. Just enough for privacy, in some quiet, green boudoir, where only the birds would see her. Nasir liked a little more privacy than that.
He walked until the trees thickened – until moving became a trial, where the forest was at its deepest. The birdsong was different here, the dappled light greener and less bright. A small, red creature ran past him – a squirrel, Much had said. Nasir was coming to know these English animals now. Some made fine eating – the rabbits, ducks and deer. Others were best left alone. Even the desperate peasants did not touch the badgers or the foxes. It was none of these things that Nasir was after today.
He found his quarry beneath a vast elm tree, the huge roots causing sinuous rises and falls in the earth that lay round about. Each gap between roots was a nursery – a place where the soil was rich with leaf detritus, and sheltered from the worst of the weather. Soon enough he found what he wanted – small plants, their young, dark leaves perfect for picking. He took just enough, then listened carefully. Beneath the rustling of the surrounding trees, beneath the constant bubbling of birdsong, there was another sound – the hiss of moving water. He made his way towards it, settling down at the river's edge. The sense of peace enveloped him here. There was no true silence – not like there could be at times in the desert. There the sand could make its own noises, but at times, even with a war raging nearby, the place seemed to swallow all sound. Here the flora and fauna seemed to talk to each other constantly, an endless banter that nonetheless made one feel gloriously alone. Nasir had come to love it, in all its exotic majesty.
Collecting fallen twigs, he made a swift job of building a fire. He carried flints always, and in no time a small flame was growing beneath his hands. In the drinking mug that he also always carried, he ground up his tiny, dark leaves, then collected some river water, and settled the lot above the fire. It would bubble there, and steep. Next he hunted briefly along the riverbank, collecting the heads of a handful of mint plants, and tearing them into the brewing tea. A scatter of spices from his precious hoard, acquired from a spice trader foolish – and thoughtful – enough to have taken a shortcut through Sherwood Forest, and he was done. Time would do the rest. Settling back down, he enjoyed the scent as it rose and spread. Mint and cardamom, with a touch of nutmeg. The scent of home, drifting along this foreign riverbank, beneath the spreading, alien trees.
The morning grew older. The light changed, moving and brightening, the greens becoming deeper, and the dappled yellows warmer. As the sun rose, it shone down onto the river, causing bright lights on the surface that sparkled in white and gold. Nasir set the tea beside the river to cool, scattering what was left of the fire at the water's edge. A large frog, eyeing the hot embers with clear disapproval, slid down the riverbank, and disappeared with a loud splash. The ripples seemed to go on forever, spreading out until they reached the far bank, then bending to move on once again. Nasir sat back down, staring after the frog. The Baron de Belleme had used to eat them, sizzling in their skins, baked on hot stones at his hearth. Perhaps that was the reason why Nasir liked to watch them now, free under the bright, warm sun, just as he was. A morning like this was the very antithesis of the Baron, and of the dark times that Nasir had known whilst in his service.
The tea tasted all the better for the long preparation. Nasir drank it slowly, spinning it out as he watched the river go by. A duck drifted downstream, two ducklings swimming rings around it, chasing each other in darting, irregular circles. A wind blew, stirring up loose leaves, and causing the patterns of light on the river's surface to skitter and prance. For all that he missed the desert, Nasir found it hard to imagine being anywhere else now, especially in moments like this. Even in its still lingering novelty, the green world had come to feel like home. Already the river was a friend.
It was the sound of voices that finally broke the peace. Loud voices, that he knew instantly. He smiled wryly to himself, resigned to the approach of others. Soon enough they crashed through the undergrowth – Little John first, his mighty stick forging his path, and appearing several seconds before he did. At his heels came Much, with three steps to every one of John's, jogging along in a harried attempt to keep up. They had been sent by Tuck no doubt, in search of herbs for his stew pot.
"Aye, but John..." Much was saying, in protest at some teasing comment from the bigger man. He trailed off at the sight of Nasir, and gave a big smile, loping over to join their quiet friend. "Nasir! We wondered where you'd got to." He hesitated then, his natural gregariousness curbed somewhat by the older man's habitual silence. John came over to join them, his huge feet causing leaves to rustle and twigs to crack, and driving away what little of the peace remained.
"Hey, Naz." He nodded his shaggy head in greeting, and Nasir answered in his usual way, with a brief nod of his own. The bigger man peered down at the mug, sniffing suspiciously at the air. "You and your weird brews," he commented cheerfully. "You should get some ale down you, lad. Put some hairs on your chest!"
"Really?" asked Much, agog. Little John clapped him on the back.
"Aye, of course. You need to start growing a few hairs of your own first though." He looked back to Nasir, and smiled. "Come on now. We've things to be doing. Let's leave Naz in peace."
"No." Nasir stood up to join them, his movements as smooth and as silent as John's were not. Their appearance had galvanised him; he had spent enough time here in quiet contemplation. "I will come too."
"Well listen to him!" said John, with a broad grin. "That's more than he's said in a fortnight. Maybe that tea of yours is better than ale at that!" Nasir smiled as well. The teasing ways of the outlaws had taken some getting used to, but the more accustomed to it he became, the more he had come to appreciate it. He could not imagine ever joining in, but he enjoyed it in his way.
"This I know already," he said slowly. The words were not always easy, the language at times both circuitous and baffling, but he was getting there. John laughed.
"Aye, well. Each to their own." He reached out then, taking the mug and stealing a swift sip. "Hmm. Not bad. Old family recipe is it?"
Nasir shook his head, finishing the tea, and stowing the mug away with the spices and the flints. "Older," he said, lacking the language skills to properly explain about the tradition. John nodded.
"You'll have to make some more some time. I reckon Marion'd like that. Will'll call it some choice names, mind, but then he does that with just about everything." He banged both his companions on the back, nearly staggering them both. "Well come on then. Let's be getting on."
"We're looking for celeriac," said Much, by way of explanation. Nasir nodded. He had seen it in his travels. Knowledge of local plants was a useful skill, and one that he was always sure to master. He pointed upriver, one hand indicating where the water curved to the west, and the land rose in a craggy, tree-covered hillock. As was so often the way, even wordless his meaning was clear. John nodded in satisfaction.
"We'll be there and back long before noon. Time for a swim too maybe. It'll be a hot walk." He hefted his stick, clearly preparing to once again use it to create a path. Nasir put up a hand to still it. There were paths aplenty for those who took the time to see them – paths that allowed a quiet and unobtrusive journey though the forest; one that did not cause the butterflies and birds to flee long before one's arrival. Stealth had many uses, and this was one that Nasir had never imagined when he had begun his training as a boy. That, however, was a lifetime away. Leading his friends quietly through the forest, Nasir smiled to himself as the sounds of the local wildlife once again rose up around them. He must learn which bird went with which song. He was strangely eager to know. Alongside him, John smiled too.
"Regular forest creature these days, aren't you Nasir!" he exclaimed. Customarily a loud man, he nonetheless kept his voice low, recognising that this was not the time for noise. His smile lingering, Nasir merely nodded his head. A forest creature! It was a strange fate for a desert nomad, but he was content with it. After all, the forest did much for the outlaws. It hid them from their enemies. It fed and clothed them, and gave them fuel for their fire. It even sang them to sleep at night. It was guardian and provider, perhaps even parent, to all those who needed it. Nasir was happy to be amongst that number. It might be a world apart from all that he had once known, but it was home now. Home, and so much more besides.
The End
Robin Of Sherwood; Nasir
Fandom: Robin Of Sherwood
Characters: Nasir
Gen, c. 1900 words
He awoke with the birds, as he always did now. Once there been the call to prayer, echoing across his village, and later his encampment. The joint rising of his people, answering the musical call, going together to pray. Now there was just him, springing to life with the first notes of birdsong, and heading alone into the forest. The outlaw camp moved often, but always there had to be water, so it was not hard to wash; and the rising sun told him which way was east. He even had a prayer mat of sorts – woven out of rushes in one of the quieter moments, between battles, skirmishes and escapes. There were not many such quiet moments – lately even less so – but he knew to make use of them. He had learned that during the war, back in his own land, long before he had ever come here.
It was a strange place, this land called England. A place of rich lords who claimed to be French, yet were also Englishmen, and peasants and serfs who were also English, and hated the supposedly foreign lords. A land of rain and greenery, and icy winters when snow lay thick upon the ground. He knew the cold – had known it in the desert, in the dead of night, when the fiery heat of the day had abated – but this was a different sort of cold. A creeping, insidious, wet sort of cold, that made a man shiver just to remember it. Thankfully they were half a year away from it just now.
Prayers done, he did not return to camp. He had a mind to be alone a little longer yet. Robin would be awake by now, and Tuck as well, busy arranging breakfast, and no doubt singing at the top of his voice. Much and Will would sleep longer, and John would pretend to, stretched out upon the hard ground, with his giant boots close to the fire. Marion would be awake as well, risen with Robin, and gone off alone to wash. Never too far away. Just enough for privacy, in some quiet, green boudoir, where only the birds would see her. Nasir liked a little more privacy than that.
He walked until the trees thickened – until moving became a trial, where the forest was at its deepest. The birdsong was different here, the dappled light greener and less bright. A small, red creature ran past him – a squirrel, Much had said. Nasir was coming to know these English animals now. Some made fine eating – the rabbits, ducks and deer. Others were best left alone. Even the desperate peasants did not touch the badgers or the foxes. It was none of these things that Nasir was after today.
He found his quarry beneath a vast elm tree, the huge roots causing sinuous rises and falls in the earth that lay round about. Each gap between roots was a nursery – a place where the soil was rich with leaf detritus, and sheltered from the worst of the weather. Soon enough he found what he wanted – small plants, their young, dark leaves perfect for picking. He took just enough, then listened carefully. Beneath the rustling of the surrounding trees, beneath the constant bubbling of birdsong, there was another sound – the hiss of moving water. He made his way towards it, settling down at the river's edge. The sense of peace enveloped him here. There was no true silence – not like there could be at times in the desert. There the sand could make its own noises, but at times, even with a war raging nearby, the place seemed to swallow all sound. Here the flora and fauna seemed to talk to each other constantly, an endless banter that nonetheless made one feel gloriously alone. Nasir had come to love it, in all its exotic majesty.
Collecting fallen twigs, he made a swift job of building a fire. He carried flints always, and in no time a small flame was growing beneath his hands. In the drinking mug that he also always carried, he ground up his tiny, dark leaves, then collected some river water, and settled the lot above the fire. It would bubble there, and steep. Next he hunted briefly along the riverbank, collecting the heads of a handful of mint plants, and tearing them into the brewing tea. A scatter of spices from his precious hoard, acquired from a spice trader foolish – and thoughtful – enough to have taken a shortcut through Sherwood Forest, and he was done. Time would do the rest. Settling back down, he enjoyed the scent as it rose and spread. Mint and cardamom, with a touch of nutmeg. The scent of home, drifting along this foreign riverbank, beneath the spreading, alien trees.
The morning grew older. The light changed, moving and brightening, the greens becoming deeper, and the dappled yellows warmer. As the sun rose, it shone down onto the river, causing bright lights on the surface that sparkled in white and gold. Nasir set the tea beside the river to cool, scattering what was left of the fire at the water's edge. A large frog, eyeing the hot embers with clear disapproval, slid down the riverbank, and disappeared with a loud splash. The ripples seemed to go on forever, spreading out until they reached the far bank, then bending to move on once again. Nasir sat back down, staring after the frog. The Baron de Belleme had used to eat them, sizzling in their skins, baked on hot stones at his hearth. Perhaps that was the reason why Nasir liked to watch them now, free under the bright, warm sun, just as he was. A morning like this was the very antithesis of the Baron, and of the dark times that Nasir had known whilst in his service.
The tea tasted all the better for the long preparation. Nasir drank it slowly, spinning it out as he watched the river go by. A duck drifted downstream, two ducklings swimming rings around it, chasing each other in darting, irregular circles. A wind blew, stirring up loose leaves, and causing the patterns of light on the river's surface to skitter and prance. For all that he missed the desert, Nasir found it hard to imagine being anywhere else now, especially in moments like this. Even in its still lingering novelty, the green world had come to feel like home. Already the river was a friend.
It was the sound of voices that finally broke the peace. Loud voices, that he knew instantly. He smiled wryly to himself, resigned to the approach of others. Soon enough they crashed through the undergrowth – Little John first, his mighty stick forging his path, and appearing several seconds before he did. At his heels came Much, with three steps to every one of John's, jogging along in a harried attempt to keep up. They had been sent by Tuck no doubt, in search of herbs for his stew pot.
"Aye, but John..." Much was saying, in protest at some teasing comment from the bigger man. He trailed off at the sight of Nasir, and gave a big smile, loping over to join their quiet friend. "Nasir! We wondered where you'd got to." He hesitated then, his natural gregariousness curbed somewhat by the older man's habitual silence. John came over to join them, his huge feet causing leaves to rustle and twigs to crack, and driving away what little of the peace remained.
"Hey, Naz." He nodded his shaggy head in greeting, and Nasir answered in his usual way, with a brief nod of his own. The bigger man peered down at the mug, sniffing suspiciously at the air. "You and your weird brews," he commented cheerfully. "You should get some ale down you, lad. Put some hairs on your chest!"
"Really?" asked Much, agog. Little John clapped him on the back.
"Aye, of course. You need to start growing a few hairs of your own first though." He looked back to Nasir, and smiled. "Come on now. We've things to be doing. Let's leave Naz in peace."
"No." Nasir stood up to join them, his movements as smooth and as silent as John's were not. Their appearance had galvanised him; he had spent enough time here in quiet contemplation. "I will come too."
"Well listen to him!" said John, with a broad grin. "That's more than he's said in a fortnight. Maybe that tea of yours is better than ale at that!" Nasir smiled as well. The teasing ways of the outlaws had taken some getting used to, but the more accustomed to it he became, the more he had come to appreciate it. He could not imagine ever joining in, but he enjoyed it in his way.
"This I know already," he said slowly. The words were not always easy, the language at times both circuitous and baffling, but he was getting there. John laughed.
"Aye, well. Each to their own." He reached out then, taking the mug and stealing a swift sip. "Hmm. Not bad. Old family recipe is it?"
Nasir shook his head, finishing the tea, and stowing the mug away with the spices and the flints. "Older," he said, lacking the language skills to properly explain about the tradition. John nodded.
"You'll have to make some more some time. I reckon Marion'd like that. Will'll call it some choice names, mind, but then he does that with just about everything." He banged both his companions on the back, nearly staggering them both. "Well come on then. Let's be getting on."
"We're looking for celeriac," said Much, by way of explanation. Nasir nodded. He had seen it in his travels. Knowledge of local plants was a useful skill, and one that he was always sure to master. He pointed upriver, one hand indicating where the water curved to the west, and the land rose in a craggy, tree-covered hillock. As was so often the way, even wordless his meaning was clear. John nodded in satisfaction.
"We'll be there and back long before noon. Time for a swim too maybe. It'll be a hot walk." He hefted his stick, clearly preparing to once again use it to create a path. Nasir put up a hand to still it. There were paths aplenty for those who took the time to see them – paths that allowed a quiet and unobtrusive journey though the forest; one that did not cause the butterflies and birds to flee long before one's arrival. Stealth had many uses, and this was one that Nasir had never imagined when he had begun his training as a boy. That, however, was a lifetime away. Leading his friends quietly through the forest, Nasir smiled to himself as the sounds of the local wildlife once again rose up around them. He must learn which bird went with which song. He was strangely eager to know. Alongside him, John smiled too.
"Regular forest creature these days, aren't you Nasir!" he exclaimed. Customarily a loud man, he nonetheless kept his voice low, recognising that this was not the time for noise. His smile lingering, Nasir merely nodded his head. A forest creature! It was a strange fate for a desert nomad, but he was content with it. After all, the forest did much for the outlaws. It hid them from their enemies. It fed and clothed them, and gave them fuel for their fire. It even sang them to sleep at night. It was guardian and provider, perhaps even parent, to all those who needed it. Nasir was happy to be amongst that number. It might be a world apart from all that he had once known, but it was home now. Home, and so much more besides.
Tags:
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject