[Child of the 7th Age]

The ponies had been safely stashed beyond the far hill, which was to the extreme rear of the campsite, tied securely to a ring of trees. Ever since the sound of attack had filled the night with horror, the animals had reared and tugged against their halters, in a frantic attempt to take off into the night.

If he'd had any warning at all, Bullroarer would have advised the hobbits to loose the ponies and swat them on the rumps, sending them scurrying in the opposite direction. By morning, when all was quiet, they would all have come trotting back, looking for their owners and a fresh mouthful of hay. But there had been no time to think of ponies, or to hear their terrified whinnies, which were drowned out completely by the fierce noise of battle.

Somehow, someway, one of Branda's horses managed to pull his tether loose. Mad beyond knowing, he reared up and plunged forward, not to the safety of the hills, but running swiftly southward towards the campsite itself where the battle was still being fought.

Branda's heart sunk as he saw his pony slip past the wagon. An unguarded pony on the loose would not last long. The wargs would soon catch the animal's scent and realize that this source of meat carried no torches or arrows for protection, but could be swiftly killed and dragged off to the safety of their lair.

Then, out of nowhere, another thought flooded though his mind...better my pony, than any more of our companions hurt or injured.