//------------------------------//
// Anarríma 
// Story: From the Dawn of Time 
// by The Great Scribbly One 
//------------------------------//

While reforging my chisel one drab afternoon, having noted the thing finally beginning to blunt, I spy four figures at the northern rim of the crater. Griffons, it is plain.

They seem to spot me as well, as they take to wing and begin gliding straight toward me.

My contact with that people was cordial enough before, but this may be a different group. As such I take the precaution of stringing my bow and loosening my knife in its scabbard.

The four Griffons however, land just across the water from me and the most-ornamented of the group steps forward. "Hail, Spirit! I am Gaumata. My companions and I were sent at the will of the new druid, Akakhménos. We seek guidance!"

I raise an eyebrow. "New druid? What of Lefkiourá?"

"He joined the mountains last autumn." Says Gaumata. "It was his wish that Akakhménos take his place until his time comes again."

Reasonable enough, Akakhménos was his apprentice after all.

"My condolences. What does the druid need of me?" I ask aloud, deciding not to beat about the bush. The group are clearly travel-stained.

"When the moon was last half-waned, we were raided by creatures of a kind we have never seen before, yet they are clearly no dumb beasts." The Griffon explains, using his spear to draw in the mud near the water's edge. "They bore weapons, but they tried to escape once the camp was roused and took little. We caught two of them and they seem to speak, but even Ariaramnes could make no sense of it, and he has seen the southern sea!"

Dragging my coracle down into the water, I paddle across to the group. By the time I arrive, Gaumata has finished with his picture. Looking past the elflingish angry face added by one of his compatriots, in the mud is a four legged creature with what I assume to be a horn protruding from its head. Beyond that, the depiction is too crude to be of much use.

"They used spears?" I half-ask, pointing at the weapon, which seems to have been circled for emphasis.

Gaumata nods and taps his hide arming cap, which has clearly had a gash resewn recently. "Almost got me with it. I have never seen the like; they can grasp things without touching them!"

"Nor have I." I say, curiosity piqued. "Can you describe them any better?"

Gaumata blows out of his nares. "Beastgriffs. A little smaller than me, furred all over, hooves like a cow, but thinner and far more colourful. When they use their devilry, the horn and whatever they grab glows."

I shake my head. "I would need to see them. Come, you must be hungry and tired from your journey. I have food and room enough for all. Rest here the night, and tomorrow I will come back with you to your camp."

The Griffons share uncertain looks.

"What is the matter?" I ask after a moment.

Gaumata shifts side to side. "What is the price, spirit? The druid warned us not to accept anything from the fey blindly."

"Price?" I muse on the thought for a moment. Curiosity had almost carried me away. "That rather depends on what awaits me at your camp, but hospitality and some pots to take back with me would not be unwelcome, or perhaps a few bundles of rushes. As for my own hospitality?" I chuckle. "Nothing, save any stories you may wish to share tonight. I am sure folk such as yourselves have a few between you."





The Griffons are encamped some weeks west from the lake, but our fast-paced journey skirts north around highlands my explorations have yet to broach. Apparently those hills are home to many 'monsters', whatever that means in the local sense. Along the way, I keep watch for signs of useful minerals, but on the flat tundra this avails little.

To the north, the land slopes away down to glittering waves just visible at the edge of the strange bent horizon. On second to final day we turn our backs to it and pass south along the course of a river until first the smoke of a dozen hearths is to be seen, then keen-eyed sentries upon wing above and finally huddled in a depression in the landscape, the camp appears.

Gaumata leads me to the druid's yurt, where Akakhménos is holding one of his old mentor’s necklaces and reciting a rhyme of herb lore again and again, fumbling for the correct ending. He seems oblivious to the world.

"Perhaps you should show me the captives?" I quietly ask after a minute.

The warrior shakes his head. "It would be better if the druid were there. Their magic is dangerous."

Neither of us are inclined to interrupt the young druid, but eventually he works through the block, selects a few pieces of bark from the assortment of small pouches currently littering the ground around him and grinds them up. With an impotent incantation to his gods, he sprinkles the flakes into a clay pot half filled with water and stirs.

Picking the thing up and turning, he starts and almost drops it again when he sees us waiting in the entrance.

"Gaumata! Spirit!" He turns his head briefly up in respect. "Your journey was safe, I hope?"

Gaumata, who had mirrored the body language, turns it into a nod. "No trouble, druid. Though I still believe we should have killed the things and been done with this."

"I know how you feel, and I know you have the safety of the clan at heart, but we cannot simply kill all things which we do not understand." Akakhménos replies, trying a little too hard to sound wise. "What if more of them come, or it angers the spirits?"

The warrior looks dour, but nods. "May they have mercy. I will attend to my companions."

Akakhménos holds out the pot. "Take this to Drypetis, would you? It is for her leg. Make sure she drinks half now and half before sleep."

Gaumata's expression turns worried. "What happened?"

"Worry not, she simply landed badly with a heavy load on the way back to camp last night. The leg will heal and this will help in the meantime." The druid explains. As Gaumata hurries away with the pot, Akakhménos turns to me. "Come, I apologise for keeping you waiting, spirit."

"It was clearly important." I say. "I do not think I am familiar with Drypetis."

Akakhménos begins to lead me though the camp. "Gaumata's wife, they married last spring. She comes from the Heron clan like me, to the south."

"I take it there are many such clans." I say.

He gives me a slightly odd look. "Yes, there were over a dozen at the last moot, and there are other moots." Then his tone carries away with itself. "The land has its edges, but none has found the edge of the world beyond the seas, only other, strange lands. In a world so vast, there must be thousands of clans, perhaps more."

"Feigned wisdom will not earn respect, Akakhménos." I say softly, once I am sure I am out of earshot of any of his people.

The Griffon, hardly more than a cub, huffs. "I must be like Lefkiourá, otherwise how am I to lead?"

"Your mind is like your name, rely on that for now and wisdom will come in time." I say.

Soon we arrive at a yurt a little away from the rest, outside of which a hunter lounges against his primitive spear. He straightens and raises his head when he sees Akakhménos, however.

"Has there been any trouble, Ariamnes?" The druid asks as we approach.

The hunter shakes his head. "Still sulking."

"Better than trying to escape." Akakhménos replies, turning to me. "The creatures are inside, unless you would prefer to rest after your journey? You will be fairly paid for your time regardless, I assure you."

"I will see to them now." I say.

The druid nods. "I will come in with you then, in case they try anything."

Deciding that it would be more of a liability than a help if they did indeed 'try anything', based on what Gaumata and his fellows told me, I leave my bow and quiver at the door. Inside is a little gloomy thanks to the dull weather overhead, but immediately obvious is the back of the huge Griffon who 'greeted' me upon my first encounter with the clan. He and another of his fellows are eyeing two creatures sat on a fur on the opposite side of the yurt.

Stepping around his massive bulk, I get a better look at them. They are more or less of equine build, of a sort that recalls fanciful artworks. Each sports a horn on a head that seems to have overgrown much of the muzzle one would expect on such a thing. Presumably on account of the brains behind the obviously intelligent eyes currently examining me in return.

Their expressions are easier to read than the Griffons, and neither looks best pleased with their circumstances. Then again, prisoners seldom do.

Given that the Griffons have already attempted their tongue to no avail, I try the couple I know myself, even my imperfect grasp of that of Bór's folk. As expected, none of this achieves much except to acclimatise the pair to being babbled at.

It does however, ease their minds when I attempt ósanwë. Carefully at first, and drowned by more Quenya so as to not alert them. This precludes direct communication or any deep understanding, but brushing the surface of one of their minds gives me some measure of their nature and emotions.

Like the Griffons, these are mortal incarnates. I immediately recognise that trait from Bór and his folk. More immediately useful however, it allows me to confirm the connection with their body language. Mostly this consists of frustration and fear.

That needs to be defused before I go further, lest they either shut me out (if they are wise) or panic (if they are not). Thus, without any sudden movements I overtly draw my knife and pass it to Akakhménos. Then I approach the pair and sit crosslegged before them.

The pair, 'dun' and 'pink' for want of names, eye me cautiously, but otherwise leave me be.

Once more wishing for my harp, I begin to sing in Quenya. Elflings' play-songs for the most part, being the easiest to grasp and complete with the gestures I used raising my foster-sons.

"Atto emme hanno nette winike!" I clap and repeat several times, then eventually hold out my hands to Dun, who seems more receptive. After a couple of attempts, Dun tentatively taps a frog against my palm.

I smile and nod, then repeat until she seems to gather that there is a method to the Elf's madness. Once she is clapping alongside and haltingly repeating the words, I point to myself and circle my finger indicatively. "Maglor."

It does not take the first time, but I try again, this time actually touching myself before saying my name, then reaching out and touching her with a cocking of the head for emphasis.

"Lēohtsāwend. Ic i béo Lēohtsāwend." She says rapidly.

Her companion nudges her with a frown and the two have an exchange in their tongue. Eventually, Lēohtsāwend (presuming she understood my intent) seems to win out, though Pink looks ill at ease over it.

I run through a few more songs to try and break the ice further, raising the age bracket little by little.

Through all of this, Akakhménos waits patiently a little off to the side. The process is not entirely dissimilar from how I began building my vocabulary in his tongue, after all.

There is more time pressure here however, since presumably these two are not alone in the world. A meeting between whatever society they come from and Akakhménos' folk will likely end poorly without dialogue, if any come to look for them. The sad fate of the Pikinaukor stands testament to that.

Ósanwë is not a substitute for learning a language, but it can bypass the problem to a limited extent and now Lēohtsāwend is cooperating, I turn to signalling. Touching lepetas fingers to my lips, then to her ears before repeating the motion forehead to forehead. She goes to repeat the motion, but I hear a stir from one of the hunters and she freezes.

Not breaking eye contact, I raise a forestalling hand in the direction of the hunter, then smile and go through the motions again.

She reciprocates, albeit hesitantly and with an eye on the burly Griffons.

As she touches my forehead, I reach out for her alien mind and find it. '*Hello, Lēohtsāwend.*'

The mare starts, then tentatively makes the motion again.

I nod. '*Never met one like you before.*' Then I gesture toward Akakhménos. '*I help. Druid wishes to know why you here. What you are. Why you harm Griffons?*'

Lēohtsāwend turns and babbles at her companion, who looks alarmed. Their exchange grows urgent until Pink bites Lēohtsāwend on the ear and shouts something. Lēohtsāwend flinches and withdraws into herself, muttering nervously. My ósanwë connection, such as it was given the lack of direct response, falters as unwillingness clamps down over the creature's mind. I could still send, this is no trained aquapahtië, but nothing now comes back to me.

Not desiring to turn to the peddling of temptations to try and coax her back, I sigh and drop the connection. Formally taking my leave and hoping the exagerated body language carries the meaning across, I stand and leave the yurt.

Akakhménos follows a moment later and finds me resting on my haunches, looking out east toward the hills. Oddly, they linger upon my thoughts more than the sea.

"Did you find out anything useful?" He asks, fidgeting on the spot and trying to hide it.

"A little." I say. "The one who spoke to me is called Lēohtsāwend."

He nods. "I followed that. You did not seem to understand their language."

"I held little hope of doing so." I reply. "They are mortal creatures like you though, and seem quite frightened."

"Good, that should keep them out of trouble." Akakhménos says.

I elect not to comment on that dangerous path, moderating my disapproval. Neither of the prisoners had seemed seriously mistreated.

"Is there anything else?" The druid asks at length.

Doubting that he would find their marital status of use, I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the hills. There are a lot of birds circling in one patch of sky in particular, but I cannot divine why.

He seems surprised. "Really? That is not much."

"You expect much from a first meeting." I chide. "Remember how long it took for us to understand one another."

"I suppose. Do they have feelings? They are uncannily blank, but sometimes…" He trails off.

I raise an eyebrow at that. "They do, and they probably wonder the same about you.”

"Do you think they will cause more trouble?" He asks.

I shake my head. "I do not believe Lēohtsāwend will, at least ungoaded. Her companion seems the elder and more stern. I will speak with them again tomorrow, if you will allow it."

Akakhménos nods. "Of course, why would I not?"

"A druid has many calls upon his time." I say.

"This is important." Then the Griffon sighs. "I wish Lefkiourá could have stayed. He would have known what to do right away."





Progress is slow over the next few days. Whatever Pink said, and it is a measure of 'slow' that she refuses to provide even an essë as though I were a dragon, seems to have shaken Lēohtsāwend deeply. I do not attempt ósanwë again, instead reverting to the songs that at least garnered some positive response before and generally doing as much as I can to interact, taking my meals with them and so forth.

I am fairly confident that they learn more of Sindarin than I do of their tongue in this time, and though ultimately either would work as a means of opening real dialogue, forcing proper communication with one side unwilling is almost as impossible as it would be via ósanwë. Lēohtsāwend seems most to enjoy counting, and so in that area alone do I make much headway, even advancing into the fundaments of mathematics.

Obviously, this state of affairs cannot continue indefinitely. Regardless of what their kin are doing, I would rather not remain away from my own work indefinitely, the two are consuming the Griffons' resources for no return and until I convinced him that I have matters in hand, they were also monopolising Akakhménos' time. One less glowering face does not seem to have much eased communication, however. It is evident that another course must be plotted.

Thus, when I arrive as usual at the break of dawn, I gesture at a drowsy Lēohtsāwend and then at the way out of the yurt. As usual, she is hesitant and Pink clearly does not like this one bit. That is something of an understatement in fact, as she demonstrates said dislike first by shouting and then bodily interposing herself in Lēohtsāwend's way when the other mare dithers, snarling at us. Eventually, I distastefully have to have the Griffons restrain Pink while I do my best to gently lead Lēohtsāwend out.

Unsurprisingly, Lēohtsāwend does not take this inauspicious beginning well, becoming clearly frightened, but I do eventually elfhandle her outside. Once a few steps from the opening, I let go.

My gamble on her personality pays off and she does not immediately bolt. Instead she freezes, squinting in the bright summer sunlight with her ears pinned back at the yells and probable curses drifting from the yurt.

I instruct the concerned-looking warrior outside the yurt to keep an eye on Lēohtsāwend before going back inside, where I am met with what looks seconds from breaking out into a fight. Pink's horn is surrounded by an olive glow as a similarly-enshrouded loose object hurtles about the interior. The Griffons had the sense to not leave anything particularly dangerous lying about, but few adults enjoy being repeatedly bashed with loosely-rolled furs and the way Pink is struggling makes following my stipulation not to harm her problematic.

Closing the flap so Lēohtsāwend cannot see, I draw my knife and wade into the tussle. Timing my move, I catch Pink around the scruff of her neck and present the weapon before her eyes, angled carefully so as to not accidentally maim her if she jerks or to imply immediate murder, but remind her that it remains on the table if she keeps making a fool of herself.

Pink falls for the bluff (at least on my part) and is transfixed by the razor-sharp blade, which gives the hunters an opening to reaffirm their own holds and bear her to the ground. She is bleeding slightly from a few minor talon-inflicted cuts, but otherwise not obviously harmed.

Slowly letting go and putting away the knife, I reach out to her with ósanwë. '*Calm. No wish harm you. No harm Lēohtsāwend.*'

Pink is obviously unwilling, but that does not prevent me blindly sending. The anger in her eyes has been fully replaced by fear and she draws away from me as much as she can. For the purposes of preventing trouble however, that will do for the time being.

I duck back out of the yurt. "Hydarnes, please find Akakhménos and inform him that one of his prisoners needs some attention."

The young warrior, one of those I journeyed with before, looks over from where Lēohtsāwend is looking nervously back at the yurt. "What happened, spirit?"

"She had a scuffle with Hystaspes and your brother and suffered a few cuts. The others are fine." I reply.

He looks relieved. "Should I go now or...?"

I nod. "Go. And thank you."

As Hydarnes takes to wing and heads back to the encampment, I turn to the Unicorn. "Lēohtsāwend?"

She looks up at her name, albeit fearfully.

Calmingly, I hold my arms low but wide, empty hands open and palms outward.

The mare stares at me for a while, seemingly nonplussed. Eventually she cautiously rears and with remarkable dexterity for a creature of such build, mimics the gesture. I wonder if all her kind are double jointed like the Griffons?

I smile, nod and touch my forehead. '*No harm.*'

Her ears flick back uncomfortably and she drops down to all fours, but she does not overtly panic.

Making a gesture for her to follow, I begin to slowly walk.

For a long moment, I do not hear hooves and I can picture her looking out toward the empty lands. Then the thumps start and she soon catches up.

Good, that suggests her kind - or at least Lēohtsāwend - has a sense of loyalty to their fellows. That or she does not believe that there truly are no watchers there to catch her, should she flee.

I lead Lēohtsāwend toward the encampment, pointing at various things as we pass and naming them in Sindarin. Initially, she parrots me, but I firmly shake my head and sign at her mouth. After that, she starts repeating in her own tongue. Or at least I trust she is doing so. Sometimes she reuses words, but since neither the Griffons or I have encountered her kind before, she is probably unfamiliar with the area and its olvar.

The camp itself is a little more problematic. Lēohtsāwend is skittish around so many Griffons, not helped by the glares shot her way. I ignore them and bull on with the language exchange.

Lēohtsāwend however, is too distracted to do particularly well now, ears and eyes flicking as she tries to keep track of everything at once.

Deciding not to push too far by collecting food for breakfast with her, I lead the mare back to the yurt, only to run into Akakhménos packing up. When he hears us enter, he gives me a curious look and beckons me over.

Leaving Lēohtsāwend to rush over to babble at Pink, I comply.

"What do you think you were doing?" The druid hisses. "Gaumata was furious!"

"You wished for progress, and I have made some. Taking Lēohtsāwend out to gather words is the quickest way, and it builds her trust." I reply.

"Not that, though I'm glad to hear it." The druid says, tying up the last pouch and standing. "She could have got up to all sorts of mischief in the camp. Gaumata insisted on having this yurt separated for a reason, and he should be consulted on matters of protection."

"If he had his way, these two would be dead." I counter. "Yet I am now confident that that would be an error. These folk are no Yrch, they care for one another and can be reasoned with."

For emphasis, I gesture where the two Unicorns are arguing. Lēohtsāwend keeps shaking her head and pointing at me.

The druid watches for a moment, then makes a nervous noise. "Very well. I will talk with him. He may wish one of his griffs to follow the prisoner though."

I shake my head firmly. "Trust begets trust Akakhménos, and the last thing that will inspire such in a young maiden is a fearsome warrior looming over her shoulder. I intend to take her through the camp each morning until she is comfortable doing so, and that will be aided by toleration of her presence. Once she opens to me, the knowledge you wish for will be yours, and perhaps your people will have a friend."

The young Griffon rubs his nares for a moment, uncertain. Then he sighs. "I mean no offense spirit, but I must consult your kin. Come. I will need a watcher."

I follow the druid out, though not before smiling to Lēohtsāwend and bidding farewell, which she returns with more enthusiasm than I have seen before.

In his own yurt (in which I have also been boarding), Akakhménos stokes up his hearth and begins brewing a potion, likely of the sort that sends one to the land of dancing mushrooms and rainbows, if past experience from his tutor is any indication. Not that I vocalise such misgivings.

Once the brew is ready, the druid sniffs it uncertainly and blanches. A moment later with clear disgust, he tips it down his beak.

I keep my expression diplomatically neutral as I watch for 'unseelie fey' while Akakhménos mutters to himself in tongues I cannot comprehend. Eventually though, he comes to his senses.

Mumbling about bones, the Griffon rummages through a basket full of pouches, drawing a particularly large one out. He breaths a prayer over it and tips out the contents on his mat, then inspects them.

His brow furrows and he pokes at the intricately carven ivory pieces. "Poor weather. I suppose that could be a sign of ill-omen, but no direction of path..."

Painfully familiar words of Doom echo in the back of my mind and I am tempted to back out here and now, but then chide myself for worrying over the 'magic' of wild folk. Besides, my efforts did not begin well.

"Then half measures will not suffice." I instead say. "Turn aside to murder or follow your current path, but do not dither."





The next days are spent repeating the new routine, thankfully without such a dramatic fuss from Pink. With a little coaxing and some preparation behind the scenes on my part to ensure a reception that is at least not overtly hostile, Lēohtsāwend begins to reach out to the Griffons by means of signing. Again I draw heavily upon what worked well in the education of my wards and constantly press for words, first nouns and soon adding verbs to our respective vocabularies.

This does little good in communicating directly with the Griffons since of course they do not speak Sindarin beyond a few snatches Akakhménos has picked up in our acquaintance, but it allows me to provide a few single word contexts back and forth as a translator. I suspect Lēohtsāwend has been doing some homework of her own too, since I note that the hunters set on watch inside are generally behaving a little more cordially toward her. Pink's sulking on the other hand, does not seem to be earning her much slack.

All the same, we steer clear of cubs throughout all of this. Gaumata drew a line with regard to that, and I am uninclined to push him further. I make a point of working out a 'safe' route through the camp with him so that parents can make the task easier for all at the set time, though of course the young will be young and some shooing is still required.

It is during one such walk that Hystaspes almost crashes in the middle of the camp.

Unsurprisingly, this draws a crowd as he catches his breath. "West! West! Many beastgriffs to the west! Gaumata!"