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Pile O'Bones
Join Date: Mar 2001
Location: Greece
Posts: 23
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<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Newly Deceased
Posts: 9</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch
In a shady corner of the horse enclosure, Kalohern was grooming his horse and keeping a an anxious eye open for the return of his father, Dernwine, who was out with the scout party. The ugly colt nuzzled his shoulder absently as Kalohern worked away,trying to bring a sheen to the horse's rough coat.
Only Kalohern knew the colt's true ancestry; one night, as a boy of 12, he had been left to watch over the horse ranks but had nodded off, only to be awoken by the pounding of hooves as the mighty stallion, Kentavrion, leaped the wooden fence and disappeared into the darkness. Following the hoof prints with a sinking heart, Kalohern had finally tracked the great horse to where he stood quietly, nose to nose with Dernwine's humble old brood mare and had been able to return him to his pasture before anyone learned of his escape.
In his secret heart, Kalhern had given the colt the name Telefax, knowing him to be of the great line of Meordas and half brother to the mighty Shadowfax, but he realised that to reveal the truth would result in his receiving such a whipping that he would not sit a horse for many months.
Unfortunately, 3 years later, Telefax appeared to have inherited few of the favourable characteristics of his illustrious forebears; his clumsy head made a jarring contrast with his staring ribs, bony quarters and dull black coat. Nevertheless, Kalohern loved him dearly with the affection that only one plain, gawky creature can feel for another and truly believed that, given the right care and training, the horse would one day achieve his true potential and they would ride together for the glory of the Mark.
Kalohern was jerked sharply from his reverie by a sneering guffaw. "Still wasting your time on that old nag? I don't know who is uglier, you or Ox-head there!"
Guthrin strode arrogantly into the yard, his rich clothes and gleaming boots bearing witness to his exalted status as the son of one of the Mark's most prominent captains. He barked an order and another stable lad deferentially led out his fine steed, saddled in readiness.
Telefax flinched and laid his ears back as Guthrin derisively poked him in the ribs with his leather whip. "Still they say hard times are coming and the Lord of the Mark may yet need flesh for his hounds....."
Kalohern moved swiftly and silently, unseen by Guthrin who was busy venting his spite on the defenceless Telefax. Gathering his reins with a flourish, Guthrin put his foot in the ornate stirrup iron and heaved himself heavily onto his prancing steed, only to utter a violent stream of curses as the fine saddle, its girth strap loosened, slipped around the horse's belly and deposited him on the ground in a cloud of dust. Trying to retain his dignity, Guthrin scrambled to his feet, tightened the girth with a savage tug and, leaping into the saddle, galloped off, throwing a shower of dried earth and dung over the two stable lads.
Kalohern's companion winked at him, "You'd have thought one chosen to ride for the Mark would remember to check his saddle before he sets off!"
Shrugging, Kalohern began to massage Telefax with a wisp of damp plaited hay to tone up his scrawny muscles. Placing on the horse a headcollar of untreated hide and an old sheepskin in lieu of a saddle, he vaulted nimbly onto the horse's back and giving him his head trotted out of the yard. He ignored the concealed sniggers as he passed through the camp and once on to open grassland squeezed the horse's flanks lightly with his calves. At once he felt the answering surge of power, as boy and horse instantly melded into one being, intent only on the forward rush into the welcoming wind.
The wail of horns caused Kalohern to pull Telefax to a sliding halt on lowered haunches as he saw his father, Dernwine, approaching the camp. Drawing nearer, he saw his father dismount and, tossing the reins to a groom, hurry to the tent of Erkenbrand, the man young Theoden had left in charge of the new camp. He was returning from the Fords of the Isen, where Riders had been watching to learn what they could from such traffic as there was in these darkening times.
Kalohern hoped his father would tell him more, but knew better than to ask.
</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/5/01 9:06:32 am
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