12. Preparing for the Race

Ferumbras walked with Bandobras, leading Friend away from the butts and towards the grazing meadows. ‘Are you sure about this, little brother?’

‘As sure as the Sun rises.’

The older brother glanced back. ‘He’s limping,’ he said. The horse was favouring a foreleg, dipping his head each time it bore his weight.

‘What!’ Bandobras stopped and turned to fondle the lowered head. ‘What is the matter, Friend?’

‘As if he’ll tell you...’ Ferumbras said, cocking his head. For the first time, he looked really closely at Bandobras, seeing the fading bruises, the pain lines around his brother’s eyes. 

‘He will.’

*** 

Bandobras touched Friend’s hoof, and the horse obligingly lifted his foot so that the hobbit crouching at his side could cup it in his hand.

‘Stone in the frog,’ Bandobras muttered, pulling out his pocket-knife. He pried the offending pebble loose and tossed it away, folded the knife, released his hold on the hoof, and started to stand.

But he nearly fell over. 

Ferumbras caught him. ‘Have you lost your wits? You’re in no shape to ride!’

Bandobras eyed his brother dizzily. ‘I rode all the way here from the North-lands, didn’t I?’

‘Be serious!’

‘I’m completely serious.’

At this close proximity, Ferumbras noticed another detail. ‘Your head! You’re bleeding!’ he said in consternation. ‘I should tell Da...’

‘No, you won’t!’ Bandobras retorted. He raised his hand to feel gingerly along his curly crown. ‘Good thing Rorric isn’t here – or his daughter!’

At any other time, Ferumbras would have delved deeply into the subject of someone’s daughter, but not now. ‘A healer...’ he insisted.

‘Leave off!’ Bandobras snapped. ‘We’re perfectly well, Friend and I!’

‘How can you expect me to believe that?’ Ferumbras demanded.

‘Because the alternative is death to Northlanders, after which that death will sweep across the Shire!’

*** 

Keeping to himself his alarm for Bandobras, Ferumbras fixed his attention on the horse once more. ‘He’s still not putting his weight on that foot.’

Half-sobbing, Bandobras snarled a word the Thain would have rebuked him for.

Ferumbras stopped him from bending again. ‘Will he let me?’ he said.

‘Friend, obey,’ Bandobras whispered.

Ferumbras lifted an eyebrow but reached down to tap the tender hoof. To his surprise, the horse lifted it. He felt the frog gently. ‘Bruised, I think,’ he said. ‘I’ll bind an arnica poultice on when we reach the pasture.’

Bandobras grasped at his arm. ‘Thank you!’

*** 

Ferumbras was as good as his word. After he’d settled Bandobras on his own bedroll, he prepared a poultice and returned to Friend, who’d stayed close without any need for hobbles or rope. The horse also accepted his ministrations as meekly as a lamb.

When he joined Bandobras again, the younger brother seemed asleep, but as Ferumbras gently touched the wounded head, he opened his eyes and spoke. ‘Why are you helping us?’

Ferumbras pulled a lop-sided grin. ‘If you lose your bet and come back home to live, I’ll never get any seedcake anymore, for you’ll eat it all!’

***