Post by brendur on Nov 15, 2009 18:31:17 GMT -5
If is not an unheard of fancy that the bugs of middle earth might be sentient, after all spiders given long enough grow to beasts of large proportions and viciously efficient intellects. The question among many though, is how sentient are they? Do they exist only on the thoughts of buzzing, eating, and flying? Or do they feel the War of the Ring as the rest of Middle Earth’s inhabitants do? Do they in fact fight their own wars among themselves, fueled by emotions so concentrated that they cause their lives to burn out in months, sometimes days?
If the latter is true, than a bug in question, a firefly of all creatures, would be no simple firefly. No to his kin he would be a knight templar, on a dire and most holy mission. Long had his people known the tyranny of the Dragonfly clan (a full year of subjugation, can you imagine?), their festive dances and religious mating rites knew no peace from their hunger. If nothing was done about this before the winters came, there would be no fireflies in this valley ever again. With the blessing of his Reverend Mother, he flew where none of his people dared, among the cold aerial currents of the Great Valley Stream, where the insidious dragonflies where at their most abundant. It was in this direction that the Warm Currents spoke to him of salvation, that by his sacrifice his people would live on.
It had been a journey fraught with peril only as a firefly could know it, he had lost two legs, cracked a wing, and had questioned his faith several times in the face of his quest’s hopelessness. Somewhere in the small heart that beat beneath the chitin that was his armor, he found the will to carry on, he endured when the world gave him every reason not to.
In the quiet hours of the second day, his faith was rewarded. As he clung with all his might to a slender blade of grass, buffeted this way and that by the frigid winds that came from the Great Valley Stream, he felt himself lifted and cradled from the tempest. Warm air surrounded him, easing the morning frost from his joints, and he heard a voice of gentle compassion, not just with his feelers, but with his entire being.
“There there little wee one, ease your burden. I know for that which you have come.”
As he looked up he saw her, and to him, she was most beautiful and terrible. He knew immediately that she was his Dark Lady, and that she had but to ask of him to have whatever she desired. Flapping his wings, regardless of their pain, he burned his light his brightest and swore fealty to her cause. She smiled, blowing him into the winds once more.
“Awaken my brother from his slumber, and your people will live to see the next spring.”
He needed no other reason or goading, he saw the slumbering god in the distance, it turned in it’s sleep and groaned, suffering from nightmares that he doubted he could comprehend. Regardless of his understanding, he knew his path, and dove toward it with all that he was, crying the battlecry of his people as he flew. Bzzzzzzzzzz.
Brendur bolted upright against the trunk of the young willow, slapping his face as he was assaulted by this tiny intruder.
“Gah! Buggeritall!” He slapped his entire person, just in case he had missed. He paused as he heard giggling in the bushes not far away, a raven haired and blindfolded head poked it’s way out of the foliage.
“S’finally awake he is Little Ratter, oh yes yes!” Syfe clutched her sides and rolled at her humor. Brendur however, didn’t find it so funny, the cold sweat of the nightmare was still on his brow. He sat back against the tree closing his eyes and heaving out a slow sigh, an attempt to reign his heart in under control. When his eyes opened, his sisters face was inches from his own, sniffing while her head cocked to the side.
“Somat’s scratchin at yer gates, the hinges’re thick with rust, careful not to scratch yer hand. S’how our great uncle locked up tighter than a Prince’s vault, nicked his hand on a rusty butter knife.”
Brendur just stared at her, it was still a little too soon after sleep to translate her ramblings, of course, stares never stopped Syfe from talking, sometimes they just encouraged her. She began picking through the grass at his feet as she rambled, searching for her brave little templar.
“Ye gurgled and growled as yer head pulled up the covers, night tried to take ye, it came with companions most foul. I wondered where Ratter went that caused him to shiver so, was it back to the days where choice came second to our needs? Or did ye tred back further still, when she smiled and we were not ashamed?”
He swallowed, his throat swollen and dry, so it did little to comfort him. He wanted a drink, but to start so early would cause him to wretch, and he felt wretched enough.
“I…I was jest thinkin back to when we left the lake. The…trip I made, jest stirred up a few things.”
Syfe tilted her head in his direction, a courtesy really, she didn’t have to look at someone to know they were there, but found they treated her better if she did so anyhow. “Poor little blind Raven, we can content her with half-truths and cavernous gaps.” Brendur started to reply but her bandaged hand snaked forward and covered his mouth. “Shhhh, don’t shame yer words, let there be…trust. Are we not the children oh Ma Holst? We know the real value of the mum and hush, and if by yer word I am protected, then I shall abide. Ye kin my twitch?”
Underneath her hand, Brendur gave a weary smile, and nodded. She grinned and removed her hand, looking down to the ground, smiling as she picked the little twitching firefly out of the grass at his feet. Her brother eyed the insect then looked to her. “What am I little Raven? Would ye call me a coward?”
Syfe curled her lip and then dropped to her back, holding the firefly up in the moon’s light. “What a worthless, time killin, question. ‘What am I?’ what a strange world twould be iffin it twas all wrapped around such a petty question.”
Her brother frowned slightly, scratching at his stubble, he settled back against the bark of the tree, and closed his eyes. “Thought everyone asked that question.”
His bewitched sibling cupped the insect in her hands, and leaned her head down, whispering to it in a not so loud voice. “What Ratter means, tis all folk with two legs ask that question, and they expect an answer, the nerve.” She scrambled over to her brother, poking him sharply in the nose and displaying the crushed insect for him. “HE doesn’t ask what he is, he knew what he was, n’look at him now…”
Brendur eyed the smashed bug, then his sister. “He’s not lookin so well little sister.”
Syfe shook her head in disgust, digging in one of her brother’s coat pockets until she came out with his trusty corn cob pipe and one of his matches. “Needs everything SPELLED out fer him.”
With that, she deposited the firefly’s carcass in the pipe, striking the match on a near by rock, she lit the bowl afire though they was no pipeweed within. She inhaled deep, then tilted back her head and breathed out into the night sky. Brendur’s breath caught at what he saw. From her mouth they swarmed, dancing in the smoke as if it was the back drop to their personal theater, hundreds of fireflies claimed their place in the inky black. They danced in testimony to the one templar’s faith, so great were their number that they bathed the small area with flickers of pale green light. Syfe closed her mouth as the last buzzed out into the valley, then reached over and closed her brother’s mouth, patting his cheek.
“They’re a bit oh light when all tis black, I’m Raven, yer Ratter. Everything else, we paint it as we go.”
He didn’t know why, but Brendur felt the need to smile, so he did. With no other words between them, the two siblings watched as the hundreds of fireflies celebrated the victory of one.
If the latter is true, than a bug in question, a firefly of all creatures, would be no simple firefly. No to his kin he would be a knight templar, on a dire and most holy mission. Long had his people known the tyranny of the Dragonfly clan (a full year of subjugation, can you imagine?), their festive dances and religious mating rites knew no peace from their hunger. If nothing was done about this before the winters came, there would be no fireflies in this valley ever again. With the blessing of his Reverend Mother, he flew where none of his people dared, among the cold aerial currents of the Great Valley Stream, where the insidious dragonflies where at their most abundant. It was in this direction that the Warm Currents spoke to him of salvation, that by his sacrifice his people would live on.
It had been a journey fraught with peril only as a firefly could know it, he had lost two legs, cracked a wing, and had questioned his faith several times in the face of his quest’s hopelessness. Somewhere in the small heart that beat beneath the chitin that was his armor, he found the will to carry on, he endured when the world gave him every reason not to.
In the quiet hours of the second day, his faith was rewarded. As he clung with all his might to a slender blade of grass, buffeted this way and that by the frigid winds that came from the Great Valley Stream, he felt himself lifted and cradled from the tempest. Warm air surrounded him, easing the morning frost from his joints, and he heard a voice of gentle compassion, not just with his feelers, but with his entire being.
“There there little wee one, ease your burden. I know for that which you have come.”
As he looked up he saw her, and to him, she was most beautiful and terrible. He knew immediately that she was his Dark Lady, and that she had but to ask of him to have whatever she desired. Flapping his wings, regardless of their pain, he burned his light his brightest and swore fealty to her cause. She smiled, blowing him into the winds once more.
“Awaken my brother from his slumber, and your people will live to see the next spring.”
He needed no other reason or goading, he saw the slumbering god in the distance, it turned in it’s sleep and groaned, suffering from nightmares that he doubted he could comprehend. Regardless of his understanding, he knew his path, and dove toward it with all that he was, crying the battlecry of his people as he flew. Bzzzzzzzzzz.
Brendur bolted upright against the trunk of the young willow, slapping his face as he was assaulted by this tiny intruder.
“Gah! Buggeritall!” He slapped his entire person, just in case he had missed. He paused as he heard giggling in the bushes not far away, a raven haired and blindfolded head poked it’s way out of the foliage.
“S’finally awake he is Little Ratter, oh yes yes!” Syfe clutched her sides and rolled at her humor. Brendur however, didn’t find it so funny, the cold sweat of the nightmare was still on his brow. He sat back against the tree closing his eyes and heaving out a slow sigh, an attempt to reign his heart in under control. When his eyes opened, his sisters face was inches from his own, sniffing while her head cocked to the side.
“Somat’s scratchin at yer gates, the hinges’re thick with rust, careful not to scratch yer hand. S’how our great uncle locked up tighter than a Prince’s vault, nicked his hand on a rusty butter knife.”
Brendur just stared at her, it was still a little too soon after sleep to translate her ramblings, of course, stares never stopped Syfe from talking, sometimes they just encouraged her. She began picking through the grass at his feet as she rambled, searching for her brave little templar.
“Ye gurgled and growled as yer head pulled up the covers, night tried to take ye, it came with companions most foul. I wondered where Ratter went that caused him to shiver so, was it back to the days where choice came second to our needs? Or did ye tred back further still, when she smiled and we were not ashamed?”
He swallowed, his throat swollen and dry, so it did little to comfort him. He wanted a drink, but to start so early would cause him to wretch, and he felt wretched enough.
“I…I was jest thinkin back to when we left the lake. The…trip I made, jest stirred up a few things.”
Syfe tilted her head in his direction, a courtesy really, she didn’t have to look at someone to know they were there, but found they treated her better if she did so anyhow. “Poor little blind Raven, we can content her with half-truths and cavernous gaps.” Brendur started to reply but her bandaged hand snaked forward and covered his mouth. “Shhhh, don’t shame yer words, let there be…trust. Are we not the children oh Ma Holst? We know the real value of the mum and hush, and if by yer word I am protected, then I shall abide. Ye kin my twitch?”
Underneath her hand, Brendur gave a weary smile, and nodded. She grinned and removed her hand, looking down to the ground, smiling as she picked the little twitching firefly out of the grass at his feet. Her brother eyed the insect then looked to her. “What am I little Raven? Would ye call me a coward?”
Syfe curled her lip and then dropped to her back, holding the firefly up in the moon’s light. “What a worthless, time killin, question. ‘What am I?’ what a strange world twould be iffin it twas all wrapped around such a petty question.”
Her brother frowned slightly, scratching at his stubble, he settled back against the bark of the tree, and closed his eyes. “Thought everyone asked that question.”
His bewitched sibling cupped the insect in her hands, and leaned her head down, whispering to it in a not so loud voice. “What Ratter means, tis all folk with two legs ask that question, and they expect an answer, the nerve.” She scrambled over to her brother, poking him sharply in the nose and displaying the crushed insect for him. “HE doesn’t ask what he is, he knew what he was, n’look at him now…”
Brendur eyed the smashed bug, then his sister. “He’s not lookin so well little sister.”
Syfe shook her head in disgust, digging in one of her brother’s coat pockets until she came out with his trusty corn cob pipe and one of his matches. “Needs everything SPELLED out fer him.”
With that, she deposited the firefly’s carcass in the pipe, striking the match on a near by rock, she lit the bowl afire though they was no pipeweed within. She inhaled deep, then tilted back her head and breathed out into the night sky. Brendur’s breath caught at what he saw. From her mouth they swarmed, dancing in the smoke as if it was the back drop to their personal theater, hundreds of fireflies claimed their place in the inky black. They danced in testimony to the one templar’s faith, so great were their number that they bathed the small area with flickers of pale green light. Syfe closed her mouth as the last buzzed out into the valley, then reached over and closed her brother’s mouth, patting his cheek.
“They’re a bit oh light when all tis black, I’m Raven, yer Ratter. Everything else, we paint it as we go.”
He didn’t know why, but Brendur felt the need to smile, so he did. With no other words between them, the two siblings watched as the hundreds of fireflies celebrated the victory of one.