[The Fifth]

There was a scream, as various hobbits ran from the clomping of hooves. However, they were also a bit curious. A black, menacing steed trotted towards the hedge. Upon a ragged saddle sat a Ringwraith. The wraith held a familiar sight in one of its gauntleted hands: A wicker basket. It looked out of place and a bit comical from the black, tattered robes he wore. He had travelled all the way from the land of Mordor. Why the other Nazgûl didn't get one as well, he didn't know, but he supposed that only one was enough. As not to cause too much chaos, the sheath under the folds of his robes were but vacant of the cruel blad that was once fitted snugly inside. In his other hand he helds the reins to the horse.

He tugged on the reins, the horse stopping with a snort and a whinny. The other hobbits, men, elves, and dwarves were making their way towards a path to the forest and conversing merrily on the way, although some races left each other alone. Many pairs of eyes looked at the Ringwraith curiously as he observed at where they were going. Pulling on the reins again and tapping the horse's sides with a metal boot, the Ringwraith galloped towards the Glade. But, alas! he knew that Sauron had no power in this place; but he did not care, he wanted his curiousity sated.

Following the banners, he soon reached an open, green field, wild and untameable. A line of people, a bit more scattered than the crowd at the Brandybuck Gate, continued to walk and to make their way. The children clutched onto their mother's blouses and dresses as the wraith's constant aura of fear passed them by. After that, they continued to giggle and play.