The waters of the Wilder River lapped upon its shores. This amount of water still troubled Seia. Why did people bleed and die over puddles in Harad when there was this much water in the world? It only made him hate the soft greenlanders more, keeping this to themselves while his people fought every day to survive in the harshness of the Dune Sea.
His belongings, far smaller a pile than when he had taken to the sea after the captain's outrageous fare, were all bundled up on a sled that he hauled with a strap across his chest. He'd healed up well since he had taken to the water, although not so well as he might have if he could keep his stomach down. He'd asked the ship captain to stop the damned thing from rocking once, but the fat oaf had simply laughed at him.
It didn't matter now. Some of the crew had helped him fashion his sled, and he'd left them at the mouth of the river, not even bothering to watch the black-boarded and -sailed ship leave for the horizon. He couldn't afford to wait, not that he had wanted to. These shores were patrolled for smugglers by White Tree soldiers and even Rangers from time to time, and he wouldn't allow himself to be taken alive by their sort.
Instead he'd started upriver, eastward. If the map he'd bought aboard the ship was anything to go by, he would head north up one of the other rivers before he reached a greenlander town. Pel-arr-gear, the 'first mate' had called the place. When he reached the mountains he would go east again and circle around the White City – Minas Tirith, he knew how to read those words – before returning his path northwards.
That was a day and a half ago, and the endless trees and water had not yet begun to bore him. He wondered how they stayed alive in such cold. His father told him that there were places in the far, far north that were so cold, nothing grew, but he could barely imagine anything colder than this. He was wondering if it would rain soon enough for him to see it when he heard singing.
Seia pulled his sledaway from the water and into the trees where no one would see it, then crept toward the sound, the dappled light filtering through the trees barely giving him away. He dropped to a crouch as he neared the river again, then to his belly when he reached the edge of the treeline. There, down by the river, were two men, singing and splashing in the water.
As he scanned the scene, Seia noticed two long, wooden poles jammed into some rocks, bending slightly toward the water. He thought he could see a line of fiber connecting each one to the water. There was a fire up from the water, with a grill over it, and sitting atop of it was a fish. He'd never seen a fish before, and when the scent reached him it set his mouth to watering. He watched for a little longer and the men – no, the man and the boy – grew tired and sat on the shore, laughing. As they faced away from him, Seia crept forward.
The fool greenlanders didn't notice him until he was barely five short paces away, a dagger in his hand. The man stepped in front of the boy, his eyes wide, holding out his arms to protect what Seia thought to be his son.
“Woah, now. Er... Er... No hurt? We no hurt.”
“Are you thick in the head, softlander? Why are you talking like that?”
That set the man's pale cheeks burning. “I-I'm sorry, I d-didn't know. P-please, take anything you want.”
“I am not a thief, softlander. Have I yet reached the river fork before Pel-arr-gear? Must I turn back, or keep going?”
“P-P-Pelargir? Keep going, young sir, for half a day more or so straight walking, but there's no ford there. Closest way across the Anduin is the city itself. If, er, if it's across you're fixing to get.”
“Goodbye.”
“Wait! Would, er, would you like some fish? Boy, go and get the traveller a plate from the house.” The man turned and whispered something to his son, then turned back to Seia with a hesitant smile. Seia watched the boy run up the shore and into the trees, then looked back at the man and waited to see where this would go.
“How far is your home?” Suspicion was clear in Seia's voice.
“Not far. Into the trees and a few minutes onwards.” The man went over to ther fire and tended to the fish. Seia waited, watching the man cook the creature. He waited for several minutes before his suspicion grew.
“Where is your son?” The man gave no answer, so Seia repeated the question. “Where is your son, softlander?” Still no answer. Two steps and he was behind the man. “Answer me.” After a moment of silence he took hold of the man's hair and yanked it back, then laid his dagger's point against the man's throat. “Answer me!”
“Put it down!” A man in the blue and white tabard of Gondor was walking toward the Haradrim boy, sword drawn. The man's son stood just inside the trees. Seia threw his dagger.
