Thread: Daughter Of Dune (Ursus Peregrinus & darkangel76)

Marid Marid heard Hersilia announce herself ready but he was still contemplating. The basin between them and Fanged Ridge was a goodly distance, and they had no transport. Replacing the binoculars in their case, he examined the rills and ripples of the dunes that separated them from their destination. When last he had come to this place he had ridden a maker, left it kilometers away on the far side of the ridge to sulk and rest after its long journey. Perhaps ten thousand meters, he replied at last. A fair walk, for two afoot on the dunes. The shift of the wind brought a scent to his nose, faint but unmistakable. Cinnamon and acid and life. Ahh, scent that? Marid turned his head and nodded. There is melange in the basin. Hidden from our eyes by the shadow of a dune, belike. Where there's spice, there'll be a maker. Not close, perhaps, but near enough to catch us if we put a foot wrong. For a moment Marid considered calling it up, he had his hooks, it would be a simple journey to their destination tonight. He rejected the idea though, he had only the one set of maker hooks, and Hersilia had no training as a sandrider yet. Tonight would be a test for her in truth, he thought. A misstep and they'd be caught on the open bled by Shai-Hulud. There was at least the chance that he could save himself, mount the worm and ride it until it tired enough to let him dismount. Without a skilled second or beaters to goad it on by pounding on its tail Marid disliked his chances. It could be done, he had done it, but it was a foolish risk and he had left that sort of youthful recklessness behind. Not far behind, the Fremen admitted to himself with a sour smile, but behind all the same. We've need to be sure of our passage. Marid told her, shucking his pack and opening it, removing a pair of thumpers and winding the spring mechanisms. Wait here, and ready yourself for the march. I'll set two thumpers, one further out and with a longer delay. The first will call the worm, the second will point him away, reduce the chance it will notice our passing. He paused as he readied the two thumpers and watched Hersilia closely. Keep your pack on and be ready. When I return we'll skirt this basin, it will lengthen our journey but move us away from the thumpers. Without waiting for her to reply he set his pack down at her feet and then moved away, the thumpers in one hand, gathering his robe about him and moving onto the sand in that curious, rhythmless stride of the desert folk. In minutes he was out of sight, leaving Hersilia alone beneath the stars. The only sounds were the faint natural sounds of the desert. A touch of wind that brought a stronger scent of melange also set a spill of sand down the rock's face, the hissing accompanied by a pebble tapping on stone. While she was alone, the fox returned, slipping out from its den and picking its way in silence down the rocks. It moved towards her, wary but seemingly unafraid. Large ears and small body, its fur the colour of the sand and its bushy tail flicking behind it as it approached. Looking up, Hersilia saw that it too had the blue-on-blue eyes of a spice-rich diet. As the moons above lit them, those blue eyes seemed to glow, and the slender faced hunter yipped once as it gazed into her face, crouching and baring small, white fangs at her. Then it was gone, slipping past her and scampering onto the dunes. As it passed, its tail brushed her fingertips, soft as the finest whale-fur. Hersilia saw it pad across the sand, its large paws making no sound as it moved, crouching low down, hunting for prey. It stopped at the crest of a dune, looked back at her and that tail flicked again. The fennec fox picked its path down the dune and then it stopped part way down. Crouching even lower, one paw reached out and tapped the sand. Only her Bene Gesserit training allowed her to perceive what happened next. A circle of sand moved and a spider leapt out, mistaking the fox for prey. Jaws snapped and soon the Fennec was padding back, tail flirting in satisfaction, the trapdoor spider still twitching faintly in its teeth. As it disappeared once more into its den, the hunter stopped to glance one last time at Hersilia. Ears flicked and it nodded its long, narrow face at her as though in approval. Then it vanished into its narrow crack in the rock face with a saucy flip of that furred tail, leaving her to consider what she had seen, the meaning of the creature's actions. Marid returned some ten minutes later, reclaiming his pack and touching Hersilia on the shoulder. It is time to move. The first thumper will activate in an hour, the next twenty minutes after that. We have that time to move out into the basin and find a spot to hide ourselves from Shai-Hulud's passage. tag