Chapter 2. I search for answers

As I retrace my steps, I find myself picking up my feet a bit higher than usual and laying them down with extreme care. I once heard my dam talk about a trick called "tip-toeing"; she said it was something Men did, walking on their toes rather than letting their heels or the flats of their feet come down upon the earth with their usual soft thud.

I have noticed while travelling with my Companions that the Dwarf is the loudest Walker, followed by the Big Men, while my hobbits' feet make very little noise when they are walking naturally. But the Fair One seems to make no noise most of the time, and I have only been able to tell that he is walking behind me when a puff of wind – if the wind is blowing from behind us – brings his smell to me on the breeze. And even then, the Fair One's smell reminds me more of trees and moss than sweat and effort. 

I seem to remember Youngest remarking once that the Wood-elf had left no footprints after wiping away any sign that the others had traversed the ground near our hiding places when the birds were hunting us! 

...and I remember seeing him skim over the snows of the Cruel Mountain like a vigorously flapping duck or goose running over the surface of a pond on its way to flying...

The sky is dark above, and stars shine cold and bright in the bowl of the sky, but the murky waters of the lake – pond – murky water to the side of the path I am treading reflects no light. As I make my way along the narrow, rock-littered path, as softly as I may go, I listen intently. But to my relief, I hear no soft plops or swishes, slaps or bubbling sounds. Perhaps the monsters have gone back to sleep.

Perhaps the darkness hides me from unfriendly eyes, even as it hides them from me. I do not know whether to be comforted or unsettled by this thought, and so I swivel my ears in all directions, and widen my nostrils to the utmost to sample the air, and come as close as a pony may come to tip-toeing as I go.

For my part, I am keeping as much distance as I possibly can between myself and the water despite the thirst that is now an ever-present torment.

A mile, was it, from the foul stream to the Doors?

And yet, when I reach the place, it is unrecognisable. I mean, I know we did not pass anyplace that looked like this as we walked to the Doors.

Here where I stop, confused by unfamiliarity, many boulders are piled against the cliff wall, and two large trees lie criss-crossed across the jumble as if to bar the way... the way to what? To the Doors?

I raise my head to whiff the air and then put my nose to the ground, following a familiar scent much as I once saw a dog trailing a rabbit near our meadow when I was young. My dam told me that dogs have much more sensitive noses than horses or ponies. But she also said that our sense of smell is more sensitive than a Man's or Hobbit's might be.

It might be so, for I follow my nose to a small, disordered pile of belongings on the ground, still smelling of my Companions.

And I realise... this is where we stopped! This is the place where my Sam removed my burdens and harness and rope and halter. This is the place where my companions sorted through the burdens they carried and repacked what they determined they would need and discarded the rest. The scattered belongings before me are the discards!

I nose my hobbles, lying a little apart, and then raise my head for a better look at the sheer cliff where I remember the Doors' opening – but there is only a clutter of boulders, most of them very large, as if thrown by a giant or some other powerful arm. And these might be – must be! – the ancient trees that stood, tall and proud, on either side of the Doors.

But of my Companions, and the Doors themselves, I can find no sign besides the sad, scattered debris of discarded supplies, littering the ground.

My head feels too heavy on my neck; I cannot hold it up. My muzzle droops until my lips touch the barren ground. But there is not even a wisp of grass here to nibble, nor any water to drink.

All is lost. My Companions are lost – gone. Eaten by the monsters in the lake (or pond)?

I am lost.

Not... lost... something says deep within.

Have the Voices returned?

We never left you.

I do not understand.

You stopped listening, but We have been here with you. We never left you, and We will not leave you until you come safely home again.

My Companions are gone where I cannot follow. If they were taken by the monsters in the lake (or pond), I have no desire to suffer the same fate. It is perhaps cowardly of me, but I am only a pony. And yet, when I lift my head and turn towards the dark waters, I cannot seem to stir.

The Voices will not allow me to walk that way. It seems They are in agreement with my cowardly thoughts. Even if my Companions were dragged into the dark waters, as was my last glimpse of the Master, or walked or ran or jumped to follow the Master, perhaps to share his fate or to try and rescue him, I cannot bring myself to do the same.

Great-heart, They whisper. I hang my head in shame.

The Doors are shut.

I do not hear clearly, for I am staring at the waters that may have swallowed my Hobbits. My Sam and the younger cousins would never have let Master go alone into the darkness.

The Doors are shut.

The Voices persist. I turn in puzzlement to face the piled boulders once more. I see no Doors, nor even their outline.

You have no Wizard to speak the password.

I heard that. And I realise the truth of the words (of guard and guiding, I suppose they must be).

They may have entered and climbed the stairs. You cannot follow. The Doors are shut.

I look from the cliff wall to the waters and back again. Would they have entered and climbed the stairs, and left the Master to the monsters in the water?

They would not have. Somehow I am sure of that.

Which must mean that they fought the monsters and rescued the Master? And then they climbed the stairs, and pulled the Doors shut behind them to keep the monsters out?

(Or the monsters closed the Doors for them.)

Whether my Companions are under the dark waters or on the dark stairs, I cannot follow.

Follow... 

I do not know which way to go.

We will find the way together...

Perhaps I am not completely alone after all.

*** 

Author notes:

Some thoughts here are derived from “A Journey in the Dark” from The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

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