What Empty Places are For
Chapter nine
Pippin knelt by Boromir and took one scarred hand, so much bigger than his own, and pressed it to his cheek. Boromir was getting too cold. His hand was like ice. He stood and called for help again, knowing it was useless. They were too deep in the wood to be heard. To make matters worse, the wind had picked up, blowing the snow about and making a mournful sound. Pippin looked around, wondering if he could manage to build a little shelter over Boromir on his own, but they had brought no ax with them, and Boromir had broken the branches to make their other shelter. Pippin wasn't sure if he could find the one they had left, but he might be forced to try to find it.
He stepped away a little, trying to look through the flurries of snow. He turned in every direction, but could no longer even see the prints they had left behind them to backtrack to the shelter. When he turned back in the direction in which Boromir lay, his heart leapt to his throat. Snuffling around Boromir and licking at the head wound was an enormous grey wolf.
Quick as a flash Pippin had bow in hand and arrow at the ready. He was about to loose the arrow when a tall woman stepped around a tree and came between the wolf and the little archer. She held her hands up, palms out, as if in negation.
"No!" she cried, "Please, do not hurt him! He is my companion, my friend! He will not harm the man, I swear it!"
Pippin looked at the animal in question. The great beast continued to lick Boromir's head, then lay down beside him and curled into a huge, furry ball.
"Who are you? What are you doing here? And why do you have a wolf?" Pippin said, a hard edge to his voice.
"I might ask you who you are, and what you are doing here, and why do you have a Man." The woman countered. "But this will come later. He is hurt, your Man. He cannot stay in this cold, and neither can you. Come, we must get into a shelter. Please, put away your bow, you have no need of it. He shall not harm you, nor the Man."
She turned and unwrapped a length of tether from around her waist. One end she fastened to a collar around the wolf's neck, the other she wrapped around Boromir's chest and tied securely.
"Shadow! Come!" she called to the wolf. She held out her hand to Pippin. "Come, little master!" she said. Numb with fear, freezing and desperate, Pippin thought for a moment, then put his bow and arrow away and followed. She took his hand in hers. "Ai! You are freezing, little master! Come! You shall ride," she said.
"Ride?" Pippin exclaimed. "I see neither horse nor pony, how, then, am I to ride?"
She only laughed and, picking Pippin up, she placed him astride the wolf, much to Pippin's surprise and alarm. At first he was terrified. Then the wolf turned its great head on its shoulder and licked his hand, panting in the manner of a happy dog. Pippin wasn't exactly reassured, but the wolf loped on, seeming content to have something to do in dragging Boromir and taking on a passenger. The beast was thickly muscled and bigger than most wolves. It didn't stink at all, and Pippin guessed the woman must keep it clean.
He couldn't have said how far into the wood that they went, for time seemed somehow out of kilter. Nor could he tell by watching where they went, for the snow blew into his eyes and he wondered if the wolf was the only one that could find the path the woman and the beast seemed so sure of. The landscape rose sharply and Pippin could hear the scrabbling of the wolf's nails on ice-slick stone. Soon they came to the mouth of a small cave. A framework of small branches lashed together and covered with deer-hide served as a door, and this she pulled in place behind them. There was just enough of a draught to keep the little cave filled with fresh air. This was a good thing, as a small fire pit was at the center of the cave. It was quite warm inside.
The woman helped Pippin down from the wolf's back, and he backed away towards the fire, watching as the woman untied the tether from the collar of the great beast, which now sat near the fire, tongue lazily lolling and eyes glued to the woman.
Pippin took a closer look at her. Her robes were of fur-lined leather. Her boots also, as though she was used to living in an icy clime. About her neck were many strands of small beads of every color. He could not have guessed her age, for her face was somehow ageless and seemed neither young nor old. Her eyes were as black as jet, as was her hair.
"Who are you?" Pippin asked softly.
She laughed, sweet and low. "Should I not be asking you this question? But no, you need not answer. I know many, many things, Little Master. You are Peregrin Took. Your Man here is called Boromir. At your great peril you two have wandered to a place you were never meant to see."
"Who are you?" said Pippin again, still quite softly.
"I have many names. I am daughter, mother, sister or bride. I am all these things and none of these things. I am the young virgin and the wise old crone. I am The Woman Who Lives At the Edge of Time."