The horses picked their way through the dense cover of the trees. The branches were thick above the three silent riders, cutting out the dim light from above. Ahead they saw a greater light. A clearing, it was, near the edge of the foothills, a rocky outcropping defining its farther edge.
‘Bring the horses round to the opposite side there, out of sight for any who approach.’ The two urged their horses round the edge of the clearing, taking care not to leave tracks in the dirt and grassy areas where the trees had stopped.
‘We can regroup here. When there is a little more light, I’ll go back and find the others.’ Or what remains of them . . . he thought grimly to himself.
Turos was assisted to the ground. He and Tenzin shared a few sips from a water skin and a piece of traveler’s bread, then rested, their backs against the stone in the rocky lee.
Rhûnnaro climbed to the top of the rocks, keeping low, his senses alert for any sounds or movement from the east.
__________________
‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
|