determine one place from another. Walking through such blankness hardly seems possible.
We have barely taken two steps on the ice before my fears are confirmed. There is, all of a sudden, a great deal of commotion from the rocks above us. My heart sinks as we turn our heads. Four people stand atop the cliff but, to my relief, they seem to be shouting at us rather than preparing to attack. From this distance, and it is hard to be sure, it would appear that two of the people are children. We draw our weapons nonetheless.
Fifteen
There is something frantic about what the savages are shouting. Only a few words reach us through the chill wind but I am certain that they are not words of any language that we understand. Nevertheless, the intensity and manner of their gesticulations seem to be suggesting that we shouldn’t be down on the sea ice. In fact, they look like they are showing us a route back up towards them.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy but… I think these chaps might just be friendly,” shouts Morrigan through the wind.
“Why would anyone be friendly out here?” I snap back, hoping against hope that I’m wrong.
“Ha ha. Talk about having faith in the human condition! What do you want to do, Ser Goat? Ignore them?”
As he shouts this, he gestures quite deliberately towards the Big White that awaits us. Having been with him for almost two months now, I can only assume his laughter is lost on the wind.
My eyes follow his arm out in to the wilderness before moving back to the cliff top above. One of the smaller figures is scuttling down the slope with an ease that a goat would be proud of. He is moving at quite a pace but with the confident assurance of someone who knows each rock inside out. It was the way that, before my knee injury, I would move over the eastern reaches of Ynys Gwyn.
Meanwhile, the people on the top of the cliff continue to gesture us back up. I am now convinced that they intend us to interpret their hand signals as a friendly warning. This, crucially, is not the same as them actually being friendly. Nevertheless, desperation forces my hand once more; I am too weak to either fight or run. I have to hope I can trust them. Morrigan, meanwhile, has already decided, trudging over to meet the small descending savage at the bottom of the cliff face.
As the savage reaches the bottom, he beckons me towards him before extending his hand to Morrigan in a hurried manner. With his help, we ascend the ice cliff back to the top. With the guidance of this boy, now clearly a child of ten or so, the climb almost feels easier than the original descent.
Our greeting at the top of the slope seems to be a friendly one. They are quite clearly a mother, father, son and daughter. All look similar with a squat, healthy appearance and skin that is sun-kissed by so much exposure to the ice. There is quite clearly very little in common between our languages and, because of this, communication is done almost completely through body language. There are lots of smiles and their traditional greeting is some sort of unusually invasive hug. Very quickly, we are offered what appears to be an invitation to their home. Something in the back of my mind doesn’t sit completely right with me. I can’t stop myself from wondering what such a family would have to gain from kindness to strangers. Nevertheless, desperate times call for desperate measures. I try my best to swallow my pessimism and follow on.
Their home turns out to be a small underground complex. The opening is a cave near enough to the top of a nearby hill. As we approach, there is no particular sign of any other families or any community to which they belong. Morrigan, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they do not speak the same language, continues to ask questions, using overblown hand gestures and an increase in volume to make himself understood. Each time, their responses are the same: slightly sheepish and tinged by embarrassed
We have barely taken two steps on the ice before my fears are confirmed. There is, all of a sudden, a great deal of commotion from the rocks above us. My heart sinks as we turn our heads. Four people stand atop the cliff but, to my relief, they seem to be shouting at us rather than preparing to attack. From this distance, and it is hard to be sure, it would appear that two of the people are children. We draw our weapons nonetheless.
Fifteen
There is something frantic about what the savages are shouting. Only a few words reach us through the chill wind but I am certain that they are not words of any language that we understand. Nevertheless, the intensity and manner of their gesticulations seem to be suggesting that we shouldn’t be down on the sea ice. In fact, they look like they are showing us a route back up towards them.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy but… I think these chaps might just be friendly,” shouts Morrigan through the wind.
“Why would anyone be friendly out here?” I snap back, hoping against hope that I’m wrong.
“Ha ha. Talk about having faith in the human condition! What do you want to do, Ser Goat? Ignore them?”
As he shouts this, he gestures quite deliberately towards the Big White that awaits us. Having been with him for almost two months now, I can only assume his laughter is lost on the wind.
My eyes follow his arm out in to the wilderness before moving back to the cliff top above. One of the smaller figures is scuttling down the slope with an ease that a goat would be proud of. He is moving at quite a pace but with the confident assurance of someone who knows each rock inside out. It was the way that, before my knee injury, I would move over the eastern reaches of Ynys Gwyn.
Meanwhile, the people on the top of the cliff continue to gesture us back up. I am now convinced that they intend us to interpret their hand signals as a friendly warning. This, crucially, is not the same as them actually being friendly. Nevertheless, desperation forces my hand once more; I am too weak to either fight or run. I have to hope I can trust them. Morrigan, meanwhile, has already decided, trudging over to meet the small descending savage at the bottom of the cliff face.
As the savage reaches the bottom, he beckons me towards him before extending his hand to Morrigan in a hurried manner. With his help, we ascend the ice cliff back to the top. With the guidance of this boy, now clearly a child of ten or so, the climb almost feels easier than the original descent.
Our greeting at the top of the slope seems to be a friendly one. They are quite clearly a mother, father, son and daughter. All look similar with a squat, healthy appearance and skin that is sun-kissed by so much exposure to the ice. There is quite clearly very little in common between our languages and, because of this, communication is done almost completely through body language. There are lots of smiles and their traditional greeting is some sort of unusually invasive hug. Very quickly, we are offered what appears to be an invitation to their home. Something in the back of my mind doesn’t sit completely right with me. I can’t stop myself from wondering what such a family would have to gain from kindness to strangers. Nevertheless, desperate times call for desperate measures. I try my best to swallow my pessimism and follow on.
Their home turns out to be a small underground complex. The opening is a cave near enough to the top of a nearby hill. As we approach, there is no particular sign of any other families or any community to which they belong. Morrigan, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they do not speak the same language, continues to ask questions, using overblown hand gestures and an increase in volume to make himself understood. Each time, their responses are the same: slightly sheepish and tinged by embarrassed
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