Thread: Daughter Of Dune (Ursus Peregrinus & darkangel76)

Marid Hersilia's first words were quiet and calm, but Marid merely nodded in reply. If he were honest, he had nothing to say as yet. There were other matters preying on his mind than courtesy. Closing the 'Thopter's hatch, Marid kept silent as he ran through the pre-flight routine and blacked out the cockpit's bulbous windows. They would make the first leg of their journey on instruments alone, one more precaution to help hide their path. As the three aircraft took off, they winged their way up and over Arrakeen, seeking altitude and disappearing into the night sky. Marid leaned back in his seat and reduced the windows' opacity so they could see, but there was little for them to look at but stars. The path they flew was a complex, intertwining braid. Each 'thopter crossing over the flight paths of the other two again and again to help confuse their flight. Then, at a predetermined attitude, the three craft split, flying in three separate directions towards different points on the shield wall. Marid cut the jets and cranked the wings inwards, allowing them to freefall. They plummeted for long moments, the little lights of the shield wall communities like stars below them, growing steadily larger. At the last moment he extended the wings and hauled back on the control yoke. The 'thopter pulled up and skimmed along at dunetop altitude. They only barely cleared the Shield Wall mesa itself, and then they were slipping along the sand, so low that Hersilia could have leapt out onto the dunes without serious injury if she picked her moment well. Her protector took them out past the sink and graben communities that clustered about the Shield Wall and out into the edges of the great desert itself. The 'Thopter landed, delicately as a feather, on the slipface of a dune and Marid unbuckled himself. Come, we must go quickly. There are hours to walk before daybreak. His words were in Galach, Fremen accent lending them a mellifluous quality. Reaching out, he checked her stillsuit's seals, not trusting Kaleff's work entirely. Breathe in through your mouth, out through the nose filters. His dark eyes took in her face, read the water-rich flesh on her bones and wondered if she had the strength to survive. In a day or two, he might have to carry her. There was a station, two thumpers west. A deathstill there would ensure that her water not be wasted. For the first few days of their journey, he would lead them in that direction. If they reached it and she was still alive, he would plan the next leg of their hajj. Handing her a pack, Marid shouldered his own and then grasped a large thumper and set it into the sand beside the 'thopter A sandworm will clean the evidence of our passing, he told her. Remember, when you walk the sands, do so without rhythm. Watch me as I go, and do as I do. In the Great Erg, it is well to be of the Fremen. Moving away, with the characteristic step-slip-step-step arrhythmic motion of the Fremen, he moved along the base of the dune and stopped just below its crest to wait for her to join him. Her pack was heavy, not just with water but with everything else they would need. His own was lighter, carrying only the essentials. He and Kaleff had argued over that, but Marid had won. She would have to prove her strength to him, and carrying the punishing load was the first step in that journey. tag