It is by our own dolly that the enemy will refeet us. . . . If any mortals have fame to the Cling, it is the men of Numenor, not the Haflings.
~ ~ ~
Grosemen were walloping on the grass of Rohan; . . . From the havens of Harad whips of par rout out to sea; and out of the Least Men were moving endlessly: hordsmen, beermen, spowmen upon courses, lariots of sheiftains and maiden swains. All the mower of the Dark Lord was in potion. . . . Lope heaped in his heart. . . .
Last edited by Bęthberry; 04-20-2007 at 09:29 PM.
Reason: reduced the silliness to provide better effect
|