Chapter 39. We contemplate best-laid plans

Sometime after the howls of the hunting pack have faded into the distance, we pause to rest, and the great horse digs at the snow with an impatient hoof.

Icing over, he says in disgust, and worse than before. It is ever more difficult to break through the top crust, to reach the grass beneath...

Snow, when falling or freshly-fallen, offers little impediment to movement through it or digging to reach what it covers, or so I have found. But this snow, in ageing, no longer seems to remember its origin as the soft, individual flakes that fell from the sullen clouds still covering the skies above us and sending an occasional flurry to fly upon the wind. The knee-deep snows we must traverse have shrunk somehow – not quite reaching my knees anymore. Even though the snow is not quite so deep as I remember trudging through a day or three ago, yet it has grown twice as hard and icy, presenting the impression of being heavy and solid rather than feathery and light.

Indeed, not long after we started walking this stretch of the Road, my companion insisted on forging ahead of me. No need for you to wear yourself out, he said. Let me break the trail for us.

And break the trail in truth is what he has been doing – reaching out and resting a foot on the icy crust, then leaning until his weight breaks the layer of crust atop the drifted snow, enduring the jolt of his hoof cutting downward through the lower layer until the ground comes up to meet it. Only to repeat the process with the other forefoot, and then over and again, a wearisome endeavour.

I shiver as the thought occurs to me that wolves could easily run over the frozen crust on top of the snow, as easily as the Wood Elf when he ran atop the deep snow that blanketed the Cruel mountain. Whereas, the top crust of this snow does not bear up under even my relatively lighter weight, much less that of my companion. No, but with each step, we break through the crust, which then threatens to trap our legs and feet, hampering any modicum of progress we might make. Under these conditions, we will find it difficult to escape them should they take up our trail once more.

Are you chilled? my companion asks, his eyes still on the work of his hoof. Soon, the walking will warm us again – but I want to see you grazing before we set out again. It would not be exaggerating to say you are "lean as a clothes-rail".

Since I have no idea what a clothes-rail might be, I take no alarm at his words. Nonetheless, I am able to take some idea of his meaning, and answer, I will graze, certainly, if only to reassure you! However, I must warn you that I will hardly fatten myself on the grass to be found a-slumbering under this wintry blanket...

Our friends the wolves will hardly thank you for that, he answers in kind. But I will not insist on waiting for you to graze yourself sleek and glossy. I only seek to keep soul and body together until we reach your destination.

I stomp a foot in the snow. I am strong, even if I might not appear substantial, I tell him.

The great horse raises his head higher, all the better to give me a considering look. You appear to be all muscle and sinew, as I have heard the Rohirrim say of a beast that is lean and tough, muscles hardened by travel and effort, and all fat from lazy days of grazing in lush pastures under the smiling Sun burned away.

Even so, I say with a toss of my head. I was weakened by my wound, but that is in the past. I begin to dig away the snow under the shattered crust of ice to reach the grass beneath. By working together, we can more quickly uncover enough grass for grazing, and all the sooner be on our way once more.

And be on our way all the sooner, before the wolves might think to double back along the trail, I think to myself.

No doubt my companion has similar thoughts. In thoughtful silence, we apply ourselves energetically to the task at hoof.

Swallowing frozen grass increases the chill I'm feeling both inside and out. And so, I finish eating as quickly as may be, all the better to begin walking again. But as I swallow my final mouthful, I think to ask one of the questions that have followed me like gnats along this latest stretch of travel.

How will we bypass Bree if the Road we will soon be travelling runs through the heart of the town?

We will simply turn aside before we reach the crossroads, the great horse replies, then lowers his head for another mouthful. Being so much larger than I am, he requires somewhat more fuel for the journey. Surely ploughing through this cursed snow, difficult as it may be, would be less trouble than gaining entry to the town through one gate, much less being allowed to leave through the other gate to be on our way. Someone would be sure to notice us, into the bargain, and might think to take us captive which would not fit into our plans at all...!

True, I answer, thinking of my old misery. And might the innkeeper have some sort of claim? For coins certainly changed hands. That said, more coins must have passed between my hobbits and the innkeeper. If not, surely I would have remained in Bree rather than travelling so far abroad...

I shake my head, causing my mane to fly up and then settle again. The plan seems straightforward and sound enough.

The great horse curls his lip as he lifts his head from the ground, still chewing. Seems?

Best-laid plans... I answer. At my companion's questioning look, I add, That is something my Hobbits often say when they have expected something that did not come to pass, or have failed to anticipate something else that did come to pass.

Ah, he responds after a moment of thought, and then shakes his own head. Then how would such plans be the "best"?

It is a mystery to me, I answer honestly. Are we ready to go on?

The great horse nods, then pricks his ears forward. Let us make tracks while the Sun shines.

*** 

Not long after another stop to graze and then resuming our walking again, my companion halts, lifts his head higher, and stares ahead for a long moment. At last he turns himself about and lowers his nose to mine. We shall turn aside here.

Is it Bree? I ask. Have we reached the town?

The great horse's nostrils soften and his ears briefly droop, an equine version of a smile. We have not reached the town, he emphasises. Nor is that our intention, which is why we will turn aside here.

Chagrined, I duck my head. O' course. 

But then I stiffen my neck, raise my head and toss it, for I am no longer "only a pony" after all I have experienced. In passing, I notice that even when I hold my head as high as possible, I cannot see the town. The great horse is taller, of course. 

But that is neither here nor there, as my hobbits are so often wont to say. My thoughts go back to the matter at hand. Then what are we waiting for? I demand in my cheekiest tone.

My companion snorts a soft laugh and nods his own head. No fleas on you, young'un, he quips.

It's much too cold for fleas! I retort, but then I cannot help laughing myself. Part of my relief is that we are on the last leg of our journey, so to speak. We will cut off many miles and days of travel by keeping to the Road rather than wandering through woods and marshes and Trollshaws to avoid pursuers.

In effect, we are avoiding pursuit by turning aside before reaching the town. And of course, Those Others with their black horses (if they have found new horses to replace the poor creatures that drowned in the Flood at the Ford) will hardly be interested in us, any road. The voice of my Elven guide who led me to that marvellous Valley echoes in the dim recesses of memory: Even if there were to be pursuit, it is not you they are after.

Of course, he was referring to the Shadow Ones, the embodiment of Fear, who would have no interest in a horse and a pony – Their interest was fixed upon our travelling Companions, as I recall, as when They attacked Tall Hat on Weathertop (the name of that place is seared into my memory), as well as the Master in the grassy dell on the western flank of that great hill.

With that thought, I form a private resolve not to halt anywhere near that cursed hill, not even if we are weary when we approach its flanks on the Road that passes not far from the southern foot of the hill, but to push through until we are well beyond that place. Just in case.

***