Murmuration by Himring

Murmuration

The piece refers briefly to my recurring OFC Pengyl. All you need to know about her here is that she has local knowledge of Nevrast, because this is where she grew up (she is Sindarin).

It was a tamer kind of expedition than her aunt would have chosen to undertake on her own, probably, but she was giving every sign of enjoying herself, thought Idril.

Idril had done her preparations and outfitted herself appropriately: practical warm clothing and sensible boots. Her fondness of walking barefoot did not extend to marshlands in late autumn. Her aunt, on the other hand, showed the same mixture of toughness and carelessness she so often exhibited. She seemed impervious to the chill and her light dress had seen some tough wear already. But she was happily carrying her share of the provisions and paraphernalia that Idril had packed and would have taken more than her share, if Idril had let her.

On their way to Lake Linaewen, they met people coming away, abandoning tasks for the day that were best done in full daylight. The daylight hours had been becoming shorter and shorter. Reeds partly obscured their view of the lake, but there was a clear path through to the shore.

There they found the jetty, which was little more than a log held in place by stakes, and the low, narrow, flat-bottomed boat was tied up there as Pengyl had said it would be. They got in and arranged themselves. Aredhel took up the pole and pushed the boat out along a winding course into more open water. A couple of buntings were feeding on seeds, their feathers blending in with the reeds.

Daylight colours were beginning to fade, although it was not quite the blue hour yet. Gleaming white, the plumage on the breast of a duck stood out against the muted yellows and browns and faded greens of its surroundings. An otter splashed a little distance away.

They reached a good spot surrounded by still dark blue-green water, reed beds surrounding them all the way at a distance. Above them, the open sky was empty for the moment. Aredhel pulled in the pole and they settled in to wait. Idril passed her aunt the small pastries she had packed as a snack. She accepted a couple.

There followed a moment of quiet munching. Then they leaned back and silence fell around them, broken only by the tiniest sounds, of water lapping, gentle movements in the air. Idril pulled her short cloak tighter about herself.

The sky above them darkened just a little more. And then, they saw it, just as Pengyl had described it to them: a huge swirling cloud of flecks of black gathering and rising above them, shifting and twisting. As under the hands of a painter, the dots dispersed and joined back together again, spreading into new shapes that transformed repeatedly, rotating, forming a skein, a scarf, like swathes of smoke, like a giant wave subsiding. And the sound of those many, many little beating wings, diving and ascending again and, in the end, finally coming to roost, all the while swelled and receded like waves on the seashore, too, and almost drowned out the twittering bird calls.

A murmuration of starlings.

Chapter End Notes

Otmoor is one of the sites in the UK which is famous for bird-watching, particularly for murmurations of starlings, although apparently the aerial displays of lapwings and plovers at Otmoor are considered even more spectacular by some. I have not been bird-watching in Otmoor or seen one of the murmurations myself, so please excuse any ornithological errors!

On this page you will find a great video about starling murmurations by the RSPB. If you enjoy it, I encourage you to explore further, as there is a lot more good coverage out there, both of starling murmurations and of birds on Otmoor.