Superstition
On my first patrol, I saw two men break away from our group, move to the side of the trail, and make some short, fleeting motions. It looked like they were digging a shallow hole, using a spade of some sort to hollow out an opening, before they dropped a few items into it, then recovered it with the earth. Then they rejoined the troop, moving noiselessly through the woods.
At our encampment that night, I asked one, the younger one, Amrathil, what it was they had done that morning. He averted his gaze, not wanting to answer, but when I did not leave, he said, haltingly, “We cover the stones so that the winds may cover our tracks as we go. If we leave no trail, the evil ones may not find us so readily.” More than that he would not say.
It happened again, the next time we crossed over into Ithilien. Two different men from the company pausing beside the path to dig a hole, place something in it, then recover it with packed dirt. They hardly broke formation to do it, but I would not let this pass. “Why do you do that?” I asked as we sat quietly by the fire that evening. “You must know it will do nothing against the forces of the enemy.” “True, Captain,” they both admitted, looking nervously away, yet they would give no further reply.
Where this belief came from, I do not know. But on each outing, when we crossed Anduin, there they stopped to perform their ritual. It was nonsense-until the time that it was not done.
That patrol barely survived the first night’s watch. We were surrounded, ambushed from three sides, and had to fight back-to-back to escape from the orcs that would have butchered us in our sleep. Though few men were killed, I heard the grumbling from those still alive as we retreated to our base: we had not taken due care when we entered Ithilien, had not warded our steps against being seen.
Since that time, I have taken care always to be last in line as my men cross over the river into the forest. And if none of them has paused to pay tribute to this unseen force, I stop myself to open and close the earth, smoothing it with my hand before we move deeper into the enemy’s lands.
At our encampment that night, I asked one, the younger one, Amrathil, what it was they had done that morning. He averted his gaze, not wanting to answer, but when I did not leave, he said, haltingly, “We cover the stones so that the winds may cover our tracks as we go. If we leave no trail, the evil ones may not find us so readily.” More than that he would not say.
It happened again, the next time we crossed over into Ithilien. Two different men from the company pausing beside the path to dig a hole, place something in it, then recover it with packed dirt. They hardly broke formation to do it, but I would not let this pass. “Why do you do that?” I asked as we sat quietly by the fire that evening. “You must know it will do nothing against the forces of the enemy.” “True, Captain,” they both admitted, looking nervously away, yet they would give no further reply.
Where this belief came from, I do not know. But on each outing, when we crossed Anduin, there they stopped to perform their ritual. It was nonsense-until the time that it was not done.
That patrol barely survived the first night’s watch. We were surrounded, ambushed from three sides, and had to fight back-to-back to escape from the orcs that would have butchered us in our sleep. Though few men were killed, I heard the grumbling from those still alive as we retreated to our base: we had not taken due care when we entered Ithilien, had not warded our steps against being seen.
Since that time, I have taken care always to be last in line as my men cross over the river into the forest. And if none of them has paused to pay tribute to this unseen force, I stop myself to open and close the earth, smoothing it with my hand before we move deeper into the enemy’s lands.