Mortals: A Case Study (Interviews and Etymology)
Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
2 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris
I resolved after the latest encounter with this culinary Mortal to learn more of him, from where he hailed and how he cultivated such talent. To this end, I began by casually and discreetly interviewing others of the merchant company with whom he seemed acquainted. From these interviews, I determined he was local to this land, a life-long Bree-lander who rarely if ever ventured beyond the borders of his little lands. But none of this could account for where he may have learned such skill; I can only conclude his talent is native-born, a true prodigy in the art. After several more discreet interviews, I turned my way back to the merchant company’s headquarters.
At this point, a tale must be recorded. As I was riding through the Breeland towards the outskirts of the district, my mount panicked and bolted while fording a stream. I struggled with the beast, but not before it took me on a wild career through the Chetwood and threw me directly into the bole of a large tree, smashing my leg and knocking my breath away. Now being as I was injured and unable to walk, I luckily recovered my skittish mount and proceeded on to the company house.
There, favoring my injuries, I called for aid. Several of the company responded, and levity ensued with good-natured teasing on both their part and mine. Upon getting my boots off, my limbs were revealed to thankfully not be broken, but my ankle was badly sprained and bruising; there was no leaving the house that evening until the swelling and discomfort would abate.
It was at that moment that the culinary artist approached me, offering to help with my injuries; being in mounting discomfort, I readily accepted. He applied an iced poultice to the swelling and bruised ankle, and I do confess that the cold compress was soothing and even calming. I conversed with others there for a moment, then casually turned my eyes back to my ‘healer’ – he was gazing at me, unmoving, with the most peculiar look in his eyes.
As my eyes met his, I came to realize something awkward. Never once had I asked his name, not from him nor from anyone! I eavesdropped on the conversations swirling around me, hoping to glean at least something; at last, I heard his name mentioned: Cutch. A strange name, most likely Mannish in origin, for I could divine no Sindarin equivalent. I suspect at this moment he noticed me returning his gaze, for he averted his eyes and quickly finished his tending my leg and stepped away, leaving the icy compress in place.
The rest of the evening passed without further incident, and I retired to guest chambers until the next morning when, recovered enough to travel, I took my leave and departed, desiring to return to Torech Besruth without delay. Once returned, I began a line of research regarding the name, Cutch. As expected, knowing that most proper names of the Breelanders have botanical origins, I discovered that ‘cutch’ referred to a woody herb that is both useful in culinary flavoring, and as a distinctive red dye.
Both of which, to my mind, are appealing.
Cutch.
