FOR MEWS
Air ripping at hair and clothing, flooding his open mouth. Land and sky a spinning kaleidoscope of light, searing sight to cleansing tears. Hoof beat on packed earth vibrating powerfully through aching thighs.
Eomer's arms hug Frodo close against firm muscled body, moulded as one with the horse. A heart thunders beneath him, another behind, evidence of life full and overflowing. A vigour that must find expression in this headlong rush into being.
There should be terror, but instead Frodo is purged of fear, immersed in the here, the now, this day, life.
He cries his joy into the wind.