Title: The Snowboy Part 1: First Impression

Author: Eärillë

Rating: G

Warning: First Draft

Summary:
A lossoth youth ponders about the deceiving appearances of the native people and the arrogance of ignorant strangers. – Did Arvedui and his men ever know that they were being laughed at and disliked by many in their last sanctuary? Probably not…

Genres: Character Study, Ficlet

Place and Timeline: the Bay of Forochel, Middle Third Age

Characters: OMC youth

Words (in MS Word): 332

Point of View: First Person, Present Tense

Challenge: Day 8: Dorthonion:
From the lone shieling of the misty island,
Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas -
Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,
And we in dreams behold the Hebrides!
Fair these broad meads, these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers' land.
- from the “Canadian Boat Song”, attributed to John Galt
Write a story or poem or create a piece of artwork reflecting identification with or connection to one’s land, country or culture. Or write a story or poem or create a piece of artwork featuring kilts.

Story Notes:
The first instalment of what might be a small ficlet series. Inspired by a recurring interaction between young Idril and a snowgirl while the Elf-child was crossing the Helkaraxë with the rest of the Exiled Ñoldor, rendered beautifully by Philosopher at Large. (I am afraid my own rendition cannot get up to par with hers, sadly.)
The language I had here is a total randomness. The culture and lifestyle of the snowpeople are based on what I imagined their life would be, surviving on something like our world’s Northern Pole.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I stand to the side in front of my family’s tent, glaring at the outsider who is talking with low tones with my father by the inside of the flaps. My friends, unlike me, ignore the outsider as best as they can for the most part. In fact, they are calling at me to join them playing on the slowly-thawing water-sheet. (Our parents are kept busy by the strange – rude – guests and stocking up for bitter weather. Nobody will stop us daring the thinning ice.) I wave them away, for now.

Father looks upset. I do not blame his mood, though. The outsider’s name  sounds unpleasant; a first indication, and a valid one at that. (It is “Ar’h-pé-dih” or something like that. Who would name her child thus?) Furthermore, he is arrogant and pompous even towards my father, the tribe’s chief. He has no shame at all about ordering his betters around as if he owns our home! He must consider us dumb, far beneath him, not realising that we think he and his tiny tribe are just as stupid as those bears we trap for their skin and fat and meat-bait. I do not know how Father manages to hold long conversations with him so far. I would be punished severely for those insolent, assuming tones! Life is unfair that way, I guess.

It is getting boring watching them, by now; the outsider keeps blabbing and waving his hands around rudely, even in those nice warm clothes Father has lent him; and Father himself, he just sits there on the tree-stump, listening silently like a good tribe’s chief ought to. Kéil and Kinai have found a good deep hole near the middle of the water-sheet, judging from the happy racket they and everyone else are making. I do not want to be left out! There might be fish fat enough to please Mother, and plenty, to return the stock carelessly eaten by the outsider and his tiny tribe.