Old Man of the Ashlands

Eiler watched his adversary from behind a small boulder halfway down the canyon wall. It hovered against the far canyon wall, fluttering its wings and warbling to itself. Below it, the remains of its latest kill, a betty netch, lay strewn about.

Eiler couldn't tell if the unfortunate netch was one of his, brought in from down canyon, or one of the wild netch that roamed along the canyon rim. Eiler was certain it was one of his netch, the depredations of the winged beast among his herd had been great the last few weeks. He could expect little help from the other herdsmen nearby. As the only Redguard herder in living memory, the Dunmer herdsmen resented his presence and would often celebrate his failure. Tugging at his bow string, Eiler vowed that the beast would not live to make another kill. He would prove himself the equal of any of those arrogant Dunmer.

Slipping back behind the rock once more, the old Redguard surveyed what he had available to fulfill this vow and prove himself. He stared unhappily at what he found.

A copy of Weltan's poems, a pouch full of sand; welcome reminders of home, but not at all helpful at the moment.

A short bow and three arrows, one bent; tools of the morning's hunt, but with his arthritis he would prefer more arrows.

An empty bottle; useless.

That was all he had: an empty bottle, a bow with three arrows, and two reminders of his childhood home.

"Torb'a," he hissed, kicking away the empty bottle. The bottle clattered noisily a few feet down the rock face.

His adversary screeched loudly from across the canyon. Eiler pressed himself tightly against the rock and dared not breathe. A shadow flitted over the boulder and the downdraft of the beast's wings washed across the aged Redguard's face. For a long moment, neither man nor beast moved. At last, the beast tired of its search and returned to the far canyon wall.

Eiler exhaled silently and thanked Tu'whacca for fooling the beast into leaving. Slowly kneeling, he examined his meager possessions once more. He had chosen this for his new life. Rather than chain himself to the soil as a farmer, or take up some business as a trader bound by contracts, Eiler had chosen a life of freedom and independence: the life of a netch herder. Now he knew he must deal with the consequences of that choice.

Besides, years before, when scouting for the Legion, Eiler had often made do with less. Long before that, when he had watched over his father's herd on the edge of the Alik'r, he would have been overwhelmed to see such a bounty. Surely he could work something out.

His eyes fell upon Weltan's book of poems. He could see no use for this, but as he set it aside, he could not ignore the feeling that some solution lay within that old poet's words. He could see no use for the pouch of sand either, and set it down upon the book. When his gaze fell upon the empty bottle, a plan came into his mind.

Grabbing up his other possessions, Eiler prepared to sneak down into the canyon bottom. Slowly he rose from behind the boulder and, slowly, he lifted the empty bottle high into the air. He waited, watching for a sign that the beast had noticed his movements. When no response came, he hurled the bottle with all his might down the canyon.

The sound of breaking glass shattered the silence of the canyon. With a screech, the beast flew toward the noise. It did not notice the silent figure that moved across the canyon bottom and up the far wall.

Covered in the ashen soils of the canyon, Eiler lay on the canyon wall, watching the beast. It was a cliff racer, of course, but one nearly twice the size of those he had seen before. Its scarred hide testified its great age and its skill as a hunter. Eiler was certain that the beast could bring down a bull netch with ease. He knew this would be a difficult fight.

There were the Dunmer herders the next canyon over, but even if he could find some way to distract the beast long enough to escape, he was certain he would find no help from them. They would only suggest he return to his homeland and take his foreign ways with him. No, he would find no help from them.

He thought back the challenges he had faced as an agent of the Legion. Most had been far more difficult this, but then he had been able to rely upon his men. Now he faced his foe alone.

He realized he had long ago faced a similar challenge. When he was still a boy guarding his father's herd, a giant scorpion had attacked. Armed with only a sling and a handful of stones, Eiler had lured the creature away and led it to a group of his kinsmen nearby. But this time there was no one to lead the beast to.

With no other option, Eiler took careful aim with his bow and prepared to begin his attack. He drew back the bow string, checked his aim one last time, and then stopped. He realized he was sheltered by the canyon wall and had no idea where the wind was blowing from.

In his younger days, a hand full of ashen soil would have been sufficient for him to determine the direction of the wind. Now his eyes were no longer up to the task. He knew he could never detect the movements of the soil against a background of the same color.

Again thoughts of Weltan's poetry came to his mind.  This time he understood why.
Eiler focused on the distant wall as he took the pouch of sand and carefully poured out a small handful. Bracing himself against a nearby rock he tossed the handful of sand into the air. It hung suspended for a moment and then moved out into the winds of the canyon.

Eiler raised his bow once more, this time with knowledge of wind's direction. He drew back on the bow string, held for a moment to check his aim, and let an arrow fly from his bow.

He missed. The cliff racer did not miss his movement. With a loud screech, the beast wheeled, and arched its tail ready to attack.

Swiftly Eiler readied his bow once more. Using the discipline he had learned in the Legion to steady his hand, he let his second arrow fly forth. This time it struck the beast, but it did not find its mark. Enraged the cliff racer screamed, and dove for the old Redguard.

Eiler placed the bent arrow upon his bow with both speed and apprehension. Before firing blindly at the great beast, he prayed for Tava to guide his shot and deliver him from his foe. The third arrow leaped from the bow.

A toneless shriek echoed through the canyon, and a great cloud of ash rose from the canyon wall where Eiler had stood. Flapping wings beat heavily in the air, and still the ash would not reveal the victor.

Finally, the ash cleared and revealed two unmoving bodies lying on the gentle slope. Minutes passed before any change could be seen. All that could be heard was the whispering wind, and a low muttering that came from the spot where the bodies lay; a low and grateful muttered prayer. The old man stirred and rose from the ground, brushing the ash from his face and hands.

Eiler gathered his belongings and prepared to walk back to his little shack down the canyon. He hesitated a moment, then walked back to the great beast's corpse and searched it for his arrow. He quickly found it, buried deep within the cliff racer's neck. It had cleanly cut through the beast's windpipe.

Shaking his head in wonder, Eiler walked down the canyon in the late afternoon light. Confident of both his skill as a herder and his continued independent life, he hummed a song he had learned long ago in the distant Alik'r at his father's knee. Soon he would be home. There, among memories of past lives and distant lands, he would find rest until a new day dawned, and with it, new challenges.