Elfborn

Chapter 15: Nordmen

The morning dawned bright and clear over northern Gaul. In the skies to the southwest were the dark clouds that brought last night's heavy snowfall. After dumping nearly half a metre of cold and wet snow in the mountains to the east earlier in the evening, the storm had swept over the Tsigani encampment deep in the Falstear Forest, on the border of Nederlund and the northern Gaul kingdom of Britony. There the storm released another quarter metre of thick snow before being pushed hard to the south by a prevailing wind out of the north.

It was that same wind that now swept the skies clear of all clouds, reducing a storm approaching from the southeast into a threatening front and nothing else. To the north lay heavy clouds, speaking of ice and rain over the North Sea. It was almost as if some force was preventing the weather from reclaiming the sky over the encampment, holding back the winds and the storms to allow the Tsigani a clear day to renew their northeastern caravan.

Renew it, they did. After the young men of the clan swiftly cleared the snow that trapped the wagons in the encampment itself, using flat pieces of wood strapped to tree branches as shovels, the oxen teams were led from their canvas-roofed barn. The temporary barns had been erected at the edge of the bachelors' section. From there they were led back to their yokes at the front of each toka. There they were swiftly strapped into place with heavy lengths of leather and buckles of iron.

Once the teams were in place, two oxen for every toka, the lead driver, the broad-shouldered Boromir, donned his bright blue cap and climbed into the seat of his toka. With a smile and a wave for his wife and two children still young enough to live with their parents, Boromir gave his great handlebar mustache a stroke for good luck. Soon enough those two would join his two eldest in either the Bachelors' or the Maidens' wagons. With the stroke of the hairy adornment as shot with gray and silver as his hair beneath the cap, done, the big Tsigani took up the reins.

The smiling lead driver then gave them a hard snap, cracking the reins against the backs of his two oxen, Mir and Lubov, their names meaning 'Peace' and 'Love' in their language. The big animals, well fed and rested from the two nights in camp, grunted as the reins cracked over their backs. Then, with their steadfast strength, they began to pull and the toka, bright yellow, green and red in color, was hauled from its two-day bed and back onto the rutted road that lay nearly buried beneath last night's snow. The caravan was once again, on its way.

Unfortunately, for those with little patience, it took the rest of the caravan nearly a full hour before they curled their way out of the camp and onto the road. The road itself was made treacherous by the snow which hid every hole and rut beneath a smooth, unbroken blanket of white. It took a trio of young men, armed with staves, to walk ahead of Boromir's toka to ensure that the way was safe.

Once it was confirmed safe to travel on, the caravan took to the road as quickly as their plodding oxen teams could carry them. While slow, the oxen were steady, possessing great stamina. They would be able to pull the toka, day and night, for four straight days, if necessary, once they were on their way. Such endurance had been crucial for the caravan to pull its way out of central Gaul into the north without too much time lost.

The sun was nearing noon by the time the road took a hard turn to the right to follow the coastline, which was now near enough to hear the surf as it crashed heavily against the rocks, still stirred by last night's storm. The scent of the sea was nearly tangible in the cold, crisp air and everywhere they looked icicles hung heavy from the branches of the trees, a blend of beech, poplar and elm, with a smattering of evergreens, the last remnants of the mighty Falstear Forest.

As they walked, those brave enough to test the cold air could catch glimpses of the turbulent gray plain that was the North Sea through the trees, white cap waves clearly visible as the sea surged against the northern cliffs that held them back. It also wasn't hard to see the sharp spray being ripped off the tops of those white caps by a wave-top wind that snarled towards the shore. Only to be stopped short by those same cliffs. Much to the Tsigani's relief.