The Narrow Road
My guide and I rode through a narrow rocky pass. It was near dusk, but the hobbit did not wish to stop in this area. He insisted that we go further before making camp, and I was not too inclined to argue as I had learned that rocks do not make the most comfortable pillows. I was not without hopes of finding a soft places to sleep. We were in the center of the pass, just to where we could see the other side, when it seemed as if the mountain erupted. Hideous creatures, the color of the rocks and mud, sprang from hiding and descended upon us. The hobbit's pony sprang away at once, and made it out of the pass before one of the creature's arrows pierced its heart. I managed to keep my poor horse under control, but the creatures sprang upon his bridle and stabbed him to the death. I cannot explain the pain this brought me, as I had raised that horse from the time it was a wee foal. I would have lost my will and sprung at the creature, but my horse had crumpled and I was, in fact, hidden from their view. The corner of my dress was under the horse's body, and I could not move. I decided it would be best for me to be still. I nearly did cry out though, when I saw the creatures attacking my guide, but something startled them away before I could.
I lie trapped by the dead body of my horse, feeling a growing terror, for I was certain that my guide had been killed, and without any way of leaving this place, I had no choice but to wait for the creatures to return and kill me as well. My terror rose when I heard hoofbeats, but abated slightly when I remembered that the creatures had been on foot. I was relieved to hear a kind voice talking to my guide.
"Here now, what is this? A hobbit from the Shire? Why should one be so far from his home?"
I had no idea who this man was, but I was beginning to grow desperate, and finally gathered enough courage to yell for help. Immediately over my horse peered an armored man. He frowned at me, but seemed willing to help.
"Are you hurt" he asked me.
"No," I said, "But I am trapped under this horse and I fear that our attackers will return."
His frown deepened. "You need not fear that the orcs will return, for they are cowardly and easily frightened. There was a time when I could not guarantee this, but -" He bent down and lifted the horse up a bit so that I could pull my dress free. I was sure that he despised me as a weak woman, and felt the need to justify myself.
"I would have fought them, but - I was stuck - that is - if I'd had a gun." I was stumbling over my words.
He barely looked at me as he walked back toward the hobbit. "You would have been very foolish to try to fight the orcs. You were wise to stay silent." I had walked over toward my guide and saw that he was very badly injured with several knife wounds. I gasped and couldn't help the tears that came from my eyes. I think that in that moment I was seeing my brother lying alone on some battlefield. I gave up trying to be brave and strong and decided to be myself. "Will he live?" Perhaps it was not a very wise thing to say, but I had come to care for the friendly little fellow, and to think that he would die on my account would have been very hard to bear. The man shook his head slowly.
"I cannot tell. We must take him to the healers." I saw then that his horse was standing nearby. He looked at me for a moment. "You must ride with me. Hold onto the halfling. We will ride fast." I nodded as he swung me onto his horse and handed up the young Proudfoot to me. Then he climbed on in front of us and began to ride.
I have always known people who ride, and can ride well myself, but for the first time I met a real rider. The horse was perfect and his riding perfect, although at the time I did not realize it. My stomach lurched as the young hobbit's blood reddened my arms and hands. Tears ran down my cheeks and dripped off of my chin. I looked at his curly head. I saw my brother. He was standing in front of the fireplace. It was Christmas morning. I was eight; he was five. His little curly head bobbed with excitement as he stared up at his bulging stocking. More tears ran down my face. "Stay with me Robert." I was unaware of the man who rode the horse until he spoke in a harsh voice.
"Why were you in that pass? All women and children have been ordered to stay in their villages. The orcs have not been defeated." I looked up at his back.
"I have come from Hobbiton. The little folk said that I belonged here." He said nothing else, but it is sure from later conversation that he was wondering what a woman of Rohan was doing with the Hobbits.
My guide and I rode through a narrow rocky pass. It was near dusk, but the hobbit did not wish to stop in this area. He insisted that we go further before making camp, and I was not too inclined to argue as I had learned that rocks do not make the most comfortable pillows. I was not without hopes of finding a soft places to sleep. We were in the center of the pass, just to where we could see the other side, when it seemed as if the mountain erupted. Hideous creatures, the color of the rocks and mud, sprang from hiding and descended upon us. The hobbit's pony sprang away at once, and made it out of the pass before one of the creature's arrows pierced its heart. I managed to keep my poor horse under control, but the creatures sprang upon his bridle and stabbed him to the death. I cannot explain the pain this brought me, as I had raised that horse from the time it was a wee foal. I would have lost my will and sprung at the creature, but my horse had crumpled and I was, in fact, hidden from their view. The corner of my dress was under the horse's body, and I could not move. I decided it would be best for me to be still. I nearly did cry out though, when I saw the creatures attacking my guide, but something startled them away before I could.
I lie trapped by the dead body of my horse, feeling a growing terror, for I was certain that my guide had been killed, and without any way of leaving this place, I had no choice but to wait for the creatures to return and kill me as well. My terror rose when I heard hoofbeats, but abated slightly when I remembered that the creatures had been on foot. I was relieved to hear a kind voice talking to my guide.
"Here now, what is this? A hobbit from the Shire? Why should one be so far from his home?"
I had no idea who this man was, but I was beginning to grow desperate, and finally gathered enough courage to yell for help. Immediately over my horse peered an armored man. He frowned at me, but seemed willing to help.
"Are you hurt" he asked me.
"No," I said, "But I am trapped under this horse and I fear that our attackers will return."
His frown deepened. "You need not fear that the orcs will return, for they are cowardly and easily frightened. There was a time when I could not guarantee this, but -" He bent down and lifted the horse up a bit so that I could pull my dress free. I was sure that he despised me as a weak woman, and felt the need to justify myself.
"I would have fought them, but - I was stuck - that is - if I'd had a gun." I was stumbling over my words.
He barely looked at me as he walked back toward the hobbit. "You would have been very foolish to try to fight the orcs. You were wise to stay silent." I had walked over toward my guide and saw that he was very badly injured with several knife wounds. I gasped and couldn't help the tears that came from my eyes. I think that in that moment I was seeing my brother lying alone on some battlefield. I gave up trying to be brave and strong and decided to be myself. "Will he live?" Perhaps it was not a very wise thing to say, but I had come to care for the friendly little fellow, and to think that he would die on my account would have been very hard to bear. The man shook his head slowly.
"I cannot tell. We must take him to the healers." I saw then that his horse was standing nearby. He looked at me for a moment. "You must ride with me. Hold onto the halfling. We will ride fast." I nodded as he swung me onto his horse and handed up the young Proudfoot to me. Then he climbed on in front of us and began to ride.
I have always known people who ride, and can ride well myself, but for the first time I met a real rider. The horse was perfect and his riding perfect, although at the time I did not realize it. My stomach lurched as the young hobbit's blood reddened my arms and hands. Tears ran down my cheeks and dripped off of my chin. I looked at his curly head. I saw my brother. He was standing in front of the fireplace. It was Christmas morning. I was eight; he was five. His little curly head bobbed with excitement as he stared up at his bulging stocking. More tears ran down my face. "Stay with me Robert." I was unaware of the man who rode the horse until he spoke in a harsh voice.
"Why were you in that pass? All women and children have been ordered to stay in their villages. The orcs have not been defeated." I looked up at his back.
"I have come from Hobbiton. The little folk said that I belonged here." He said nothing else, but it is sure from later conversation that he was wondering what a woman of Rohan was doing with the Hobbits.