Poem: "Shadow Staves"

This poem was inspired by unmutual and marina_bonomi, and sponsored by unmutual.  It features one of my desertfolk, Shareem, who in this particular poem has ventured far from the familiar desert.  I like watching elegant, confident characters respond to situations that are utterly outside their experience. (For an example of Whispering Sands omens, see "Piraan." )

EDIT 8/4/10: After discussion with janetmiles, I have changed "hail" to "hailstorm" below.

Covered with snow,
the North looked almost familiar,
but the dunes were white instead of gold,
cold water instead of hot sand.
The land was not silent but unspeaking,
illiterate even to a watchful eye --
here there were no friendly omens
scribbled in the dust
or written in the fall of a horse's mane.

Shareem lifted bluegreen eyes from the snowy ground
and trailed the guide to a lone tree standing in the plain.
"Why are we stopping?"

The guide pushed her furred hood back,
baring her head to clear her vision.
"I want to read the shadow staves under the tree."

What could there be to read in this barren land?
Curious, Shareem edged closer,
but the tracks of the branches were all angles,
signifying nothing.
A careless foot slipped forward --
but the shadows felt sharp underfoot,
like dune grass on bare skin.

Shareem sprang back,
rubbing the sole of one boot
against the opposite calf.
This land is literate,
but it speaks a script I cannot read.

The guide chuckled darkly.
"I did warn you earlier to mind the shadows."

"What did the tree have to say?"
Shareem asked.

The guide put her hood up again.
She traced two upright lines joined by a falling slant.
"Hailstorm," she said quietly, and picked up the pace.
"Trouble ahead."

Shareem flicked a gesture of thanks
to the foreign tree
and hastened to catch up.