Dear diary,
Jubilation and rejoicing, for today got born.
Am, of course, being sarcastic. About the jubilation, I mean, not the being born; otherwise I wouldn't be starting this diary at all.
The best thing about it was that it was all very quick: one moment was in my Mum's stomach, innocently kicking her every now and again, not doing any harm whatsoever. The next, was evicted! Was getting squeezed and squished and squashed and squooshed out of her – whoever says birth is worst for the mother clearly does not remember their own part in the proceedings - and dumped on top of yellow stuff. Apparently is called straw. Is dead uncomfortable. And scratchy.
Doesn't taste half bad, though.
Anyway, there was Mum, looking round and over at me. She's really pretty, my Mum, though at that precise moment didn't look too good, and who could blame her: after all she'd just pushed me out from…yuck, not going there. Not again, at any rate, since doubt I would fit.
Apart from mum there were things looking down at me, the sight of which, if only for a moment or two, made me wish that I really could retreat back to the comfort of my old room inside Mum, even if I had to fight my way back between her legs. That's just how bad they are. They're called Men. Foul fiends! Only two legs to walk on, can you believe it? Thus their front limbs are free for doing other things, and thus have got objects called hands at the ends of them so can hold things. What's wrong with holding stuff in your mouth, I'd like to know? You don't know where those hands have been! Catch me being touched by those horrid squishy fingers of theirs?
Brrrr.
After a bit Men left me and my mum alone and she started licking me off and talking to me. She's so nice, my Mum. Love her v. much.
I still sort of miss my old room, though.
Hey. I've just thought of something! Those Men manes, or whatever they call their manes in their own stupid grunts, look just like straw! Straw heads, bwa ha ha ha!
…
Give me a break; I'm only about ten minutes old.
Dear diary,
This is only the second day of my life, but already things are going like clappers. This morning old chap came into stable - the big wooden thing which we are kept in; at least until I find a way to stick to the walls and climb out one of the windows. Hah! That'll show 'em - and Men came into our stall, took me out and began showing me off to him. Wasn't too bad at first, if you overlook the pawing and poking, but when you still retain the full memory of being squeezed out from your mother's behind you can put up with a lot. But then one put his horrible little hands in my mouth, and pulled the lips back so that the old chap could see my teeth.
Eeeyuck.
Eeeyuck.
And need I say it again?
Eeeyuck.
I don't even want to think about what he must have been stirring those things in.
Well, a foal can only take so much, so bit down and bit hard. You could tell he didn't like it, because made high pitched noise and pulled horrible hands out of my mouth and shook them a lot.
For some strange reason, something called a martini came to mind right at that point. Obviously delusional from all that milk I drank yesterday. What has Mum been eating?
Anyway, inspection seemed to be over, since was pushed back in the stall with Mum. She wasn't best pleased. Started telling me off, saying that if didn't behave in front of the Men then they wouldn't be very nice to me: they'd whip me. Don't know what whipping is, but I do know that it hurts a lot! Don't want to get whipped, but am not going to behave like little slave towards Men.
Sucks for them, then.
Dear diary,
Growing fast. Only a week old, and already can walk, trot, canter and gallop! Am faster than all of the other foals already, and faster than most of the adults as well! Mum's v. proud, and says am going to be a wonderful Mearas. Not quite sure what that is, but apparently is a really elite type of horse.
Excellent.
Still haven't found a way to stick to walls, though. Doh!
Men are really impressed as well. Know they are, because heard them say so. Can understand what Men say now; really not that difficult, but can't talk to them because are far too stupid to understand us. Well, most are. There are a few of them that can tell what we say, suppose, but are few and far between. That's what Mum says anyway, so is easier to just think that all humans are stupid.
That's not going to be too difficult, judging by the ones that have seen so far.
Now I keep thinking about some sort of little fish that gets stuck in your ear. Have decided not to eat straw anymore; obviously the Men are putting something in it to control our brains. Our brains, I tell you!
Men are real oddballs. Reason they keep us horses is so that they can ride on us! Really! They can't run v. fast - not surprising, since only have two weak little legs - so guess what? They make us do the running for them! They put odd things on our backs called saddles, and things in our mouths called bridles so that they can direct us, and then they sit on us and make us run! Can you believe nerve of them? I can't.
Am certainly not going to let them put a saddle on me, at any rate.
They also call us by names of their own making. They call Mum Fleetfoot – can see why, she's dead fast. Not as fast as me, though! – but for some strange reason they're always calling me Shadowfax. No idea why, since am obviously not a shadow, and cannot use fax machine – not that they've been invented yet anyway.
Dear diary,
Not a foal any more, am a colt! Get to run all over the plains with the other colts, and we have fun. My best friend's called Brego; is called after some king of Men. Tough break! We have shed loads of races, but I always win. Everyone says I look really lovely now, and I must say I do stand out from the crowd: am a spiffy grey colour, while all the others are boring colours like brown or white or black. And am fast and big – bigger than any of the other colts! Am king of the herd!
However, still can't stick to walls. Have more or less abandoned this dream now. Curse those spiders! What do they have that I don't?
Apart from the ability to find flies tasty, of course. Plus shooting webs from their behinds.
Mum says not to worry about it, since there aren't really many vertical objects to climb around here in any case. She has a point. Rohan is rather flat.
Mostly I run over the plains, but sometimes I come back to Edoras, the big place on a hill where all the Men live. Sometimes I see a woman standing in front of the big house on top of the hill – can tell the difference between men (this lot certainly didn't have a whole lot of imagination when it came to naming their species, did they?) and women quite easily, have found out, since if you kick the former between their spindly little legs they tend to cross their eyes and squeak and fall over onto the ground. So funny. But I swear to use my knowledge only in the cause of good!
Shppf.
Anyway, the woman is called Éowyn, is the niece of the old bloke who came into my stable to see me; he's called Théoden, is the king. Like Éowyn better than the other Men things since she treats me like proper being, not something to show off, plus she's the only two legged creature in this place that has at least half a brain or even more; but for some reason always wears white. No idea why! She is always nice to the horses, and gives us treats and stuff, but often really severe and gloomy. I can see why: horrible snot Wormtongue has the eye for her. Creepy stooge. He has dandruff. He has no eyebrows! What kind of mammal has no eyebrows?!Evil, I tell you!
Yuck. Even thinking about him makes me want to kick his face in for target practice.
Good thing Éowyn's got her brother, Éomer, looking out for her. He may be complete cretin in many ways, but at least he knows enough to make sure Wormtongue keeps those greasy mitts of his off his sister.
Never trust a man with no eyebrows.
Dear diary,
Today the creep came into our paddock, to have a look at us. Or, more precisely, to pick himself a horse that makes him look good when he rides it. Tough luck, Grima, you don't look good on anything, least of all a horse! Seemed interested in me, but certainly wasn't going to let him ride me – which, strictly speaking, he's not supposed to do anyway, so was completely in the right! - so when he came up to me, reared up and kicked him in the chest.
Don't worry over the eye-browless freak, diary, didn't kick him very hard, worse luck; just enough to knock him over, and give him a shock. Didn't seem quite so keen to ride on me after that, practically scooted out the paddock! Tee hee hee! And it won't stop there: if he comes near me again, will kick him harder – where the sun doesn't shine, unless he doesn't have one of those either. That'll teach him! No one's going to put saddle on me, or bridle in my mouth, especially now since I've learned exactly what they're made from.
Eeeyew.
All I can say is, is bad enough that Men wear the skins of animals they've offed; they shouldn't have to make other beasts put up with it as well! I mean, can you imagine wearing the hide of a dead cow, let alone having it put in your mouth? Almost enough to put me off food.
Almost being the word, of course.
Dear diary,
Yeesh.
All I can say at this precise moment is, those poor idiot male horses – who are no longer, strictly speaking, male - who didn't have the sense to run away when the Men brought those ropes and knives out.
I swear, here and now, that if any bipedal creature comes near me with a knife, I'll bite their grubby little opposable thumbs off.
Dear diary,
Mucho excitement up at Golden Hall today, or so I've heard. Some codger came along, babbling stuff about Saruman - wizard who lives nearby; don't know much about him, except for fact that he also seems to have penchant for white - and the shadow in the East, and other such wonderful conversation openers.
Théoden didn't seem too impressed by all this. He told old guy to get lost, preferably as quickly as possible. Personally am not entirely sure if that was exactly the best idea he's ever had. Has he forgotten the age old rule?
Do not turn old fogies away from your door, for they know where you live and will be back.
I amaze myself with my amounts of useless knowledge sometimes.
Anyway, we're all expecting a visit to the paddock tomorrow; king (v. grudgingly) said Gandalf - codger's name, though some of Men say he's called Mithrandir and others the Grey Pilgrim; how many names can someone have? - could borrow horse for journey back to the North.
Well, he's not looking over me. Shall go over the fields, to a nice quiet stream, and relax. The bliss.
Dear diary,
You won't believe what I've done. Only gone and got myself a rider, that's what!
Strictly speaking, of course, is not exactly riding me – you could say I'm carrying him. But whatever we're doing, we're going to the North! V. fast, might I add!
Was cropping the grass in the fields, when suddenly he turned up. Knew at once who he was; show me really scruffy grey outfit and the words Grey Pilgrim spring to mind at once, for some odd reason.
Note the use of obvious sarcasm.
And he seemed v. interested in little old me.
Bwa ha ha.
Was in the mood for some fun, so let him come quite near, and then skedaddled off a few hundred metres. He came after me quite fast for an old bloke, so ran a few hundred metres more. He still came after me. By this time "Can't you take a hint, mate?" was now the new flavour of the month, so set off at a sprint and soon left him far behind.
Anyway, soon halted at a stream for a drink and snack – running iss hot work, I'll have you know! - but the next thing the bloke is coming up again. Now, by this point am naturally thinking "Who is this weirdo?" (not often you find Men who can run that fast, they prefer to let us do it for them) but still wasn't having anyone ride me – so set off again.
He soon catches up with me, though. Didn't know old men could run so fast. So ran faster. But then, he leaps out in front of me! He overtook me! Me!
Bully for him.
He comes towards me, and strokes my mane. Of course, was waiting for the chance to kick him where it hurts; but then he said, "Shadowfax, prince of horses, I require you aid in a great purpose. Great haste is needed to return to the Shire, and I need a fast steed to carry me back. Will you perform this task?"
Now I must say, quite like being called prince of horses. But all the same said quietly, not expecting him to understand, "No one's riding me, mate."
Then he said, calmly, as if he talks straight to us lot all the time instead of at us, as a whole lot of them do, "I'm not expecting to ride you, Shadowfax. I just need you to carry me North. No riding involved, I swear."
I said it before, and I'll say it again: oooer! He understood me! He actually heard what I said! Must be because he's a wizard. Well, how could one say no to that? Without looking really mean and stingy and generally un-Mearas-like? So let him climb on back, and we were off!
And best part is, Men back at Edoras – king in particular – will be kicking themselves! I think I like Gandalf already; he loves taking advantage of stupid people.
So here I am now, running North, with wizard on my back. Is quite exciting really, since have never been out of Rohan before! And at least he is not riding me.
Though perhaps saddle might be good thing after all – Gandalf maybe a wizard, but he still has really bony backside.
Good grief, that chafes.
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