capture young passager birds. I swear he has more than half a mind to try it himself!”
“The Lady Zahirah may be willing to allow her son out into the deserts for days such as this, but I doubt she would allow him to be buried up to his neck in sand!” Nasir laughed, referring to one of the ways some trappers hid themselves to enable them to capture a young falcon on their first annual migration. Though, he thought privately, there were a number she would have no hesitation in burying over their heads, when she deemed them too much of a threat to Talal. He was glad, he thought idly, that he wasn’t one of their number. Then he suddenly shook himself as, despite the intense heat, a sudden chill hit him between his shoulder blades. Shaking it off, with a little difficulty, he smiled, as he spoke of his nephew.
“It’s been good to see Talal enjoy himself today,” he remarked as the two friends returned to the camp. “He’s too young to have such a burden placed on him, so thank you for bearing with his exuberance.”
Kerim shook his head. “No thanks are needed, my friend. I like the boy. I have three brothers, two of whom are around his age, so I’m well used to showing amazement at how much they know!”
Talal, himself, aware of the unwritten reason behind the hunting party, looked about to question, but remained silent on a small shake of his head from Nasir.
Shortly afterwards, the sun’s blazing heat diminished to the merely excessive, they all re-mounted their horses. With their falcons unleashed from their blocks and again back on their wrists, the entire party let their youthful high spirits return and they galloped happily across the gravelly flats, alert for the signs from their trackers that prey had again been sighted. The men tracking were experts at what they did and the party didn’t have long to wait before the soft cry went up and the riders again prepared to release their birds.
“ Ay -see there!” whispered Talal excitedly to Nasir, who turned and saw the small herd of gazelle grazing near a scrubby outcrop, that Talal’s sharp eyes had spotted almost as soon as had the beaters.
“Whose falcon will race first to harry the gazelle and give our dogs some sport?” challenged Fahad, immediately setting off a barrage of good-natured argument.
Nasir, enjoying the high spirits of the party, felt a light touch on his arm. Looking down he saw one of the trackers peering urgently up into his eyes.
“Lord,” the old man whispered, “it is not wise to stay. We smell a haboob approaching!”
A sandstorm! Instinctively, Nasir looked up at the skies, but could see nothing to alarm him. He knew better, though, than to ignore men far more experienced than he in the ways of the desert. Had he had any doubts, these were dispelled when Abdul, one of his most experienced and trusted men, rode up next to him, his lined face reflecting his concern.
“The man is well versed in such matters. It would be unwise to ignore his advice,” he murmured quietly.
Nasir, his mind made up, ordered an immediate return to the town. I would rather be seen as an old woman if the scout is wrong, he thought, than be caught in a haboob ! Like all who inhabited the deserts or their fringes, he well knew the havoc that a sandstorm could cause. They could rage for many hours, if not days, burying men and animals so deeply that they could never dig themselves out. Those who did, faced a landscape totally changed from that which they inhabited before powerful, sand-bearing winds raced across the land, scouring out huge new dunes and flattening others that had stood for decades.
Ignoring the cries of disappointment and surprise that greeted his decision, he immediately placed his mount next to Talal’s and ordered a swift race back to the safety of the town’s walls. Their horses were tired after their day of hard-riding and he blessed his foresight that he’d followed his now habitual practise of having a backup
“The Lady Zahirah may be willing to allow her son out into the deserts for days such as this, but I doubt she would allow him to be buried up to his neck in sand!” Nasir laughed, referring to one of the ways some trappers hid themselves to enable them to capture a young falcon on their first annual migration. Though, he thought privately, there were a number she would have no hesitation in burying over their heads, when she deemed them too much of a threat to Talal. He was glad, he thought idly, that he wasn’t one of their number. Then he suddenly shook himself as, despite the intense heat, a sudden chill hit him between his shoulder blades. Shaking it off, with a little difficulty, he smiled, as he spoke of his nephew.
“It’s been good to see Talal enjoy himself today,” he remarked as the two friends returned to the camp. “He’s too young to have such a burden placed on him, so thank you for bearing with his exuberance.”
Kerim shook his head. “No thanks are needed, my friend. I like the boy. I have three brothers, two of whom are around his age, so I’m well used to showing amazement at how much they know!”
Talal, himself, aware of the unwritten reason behind the hunting party, looked about to question, but remained silent on a small shake of his head from Nasir.
Shortly afterwards, the sun’s blazing heat diminished to the merely excessive, they all re-mounted their horses. With their falcons unleashed from their blocks and again back on their wrists, the entire party let their youthful high spirits return and they galloped happily across the gravelly flats, alert for the signs from their trackers that prey had again been sighted. The men tracking were experts at what they did and the party didn’t have long to wait before the soft cry went up and the riders again prepared to release their birds.
“ Ay -see there!” whispered Talal excitedly to Nasir, who turned and saw the small herd of gazelle grazing near a scrubby outcrop, that Talal’s sharp eyes had spotted almost as soon as had the beaters.
“Whose falcon will race first to harry the gazelle and give our dogs some sport?” challenged Fahad, immediately setting off a barrage of good-natured argument.
Nasir, enjoying the high spirits of the party, felt a light touch on his arm. Looking down he saw one of the trackers peering urgently up into his eyes.
“Lord,” the old man whispered, “it is not wise to stay. We smell a haboob approaching!”
A sandstorm! Instinctively, Nasir looked up at the skies, but could see nothing to alarm him. He knew better, though, than to ignore men far more experienced than he in the ways of the desert. Had he had any doubts, these were dispelled when Abdul, one of his most experienced and trusted men, rode up next to him, his lined face reflecting his concern.
“The man is well versed in such matters. It would be unwise to ignore his advice,” he murmured quietly.
Nasir, his mind made up, ordered an immediate return to the town. I would rather be seen as an old woman if the scout is wrong, he thought, than be caught in a haboob ! Like all who inhabited the deserts or their fringes, he well knew the havoc that a sandstorm could cause. They could rage for many hours, if not days, burying men and animals so deeply that they could never dig themselves out. Those who did, faced a landscape totally changed from that which they inhabited before powerful, sand-bearing winds raced across the land, scouring out huge new dunes and flattening others that had stood for decades.
Ignoring the cries of disappointment and surprise that greeted his decision, he immediately placed his mount next to Talal’s and ordered a swift race back to the safety of the town’s walls. Their horses were tired after their day of hard-riding and he blessed his foresight that he’d followed his now habitual practise of having a backup
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