Chapter 40. Just past Bree, an impediment arises

Having drawn a wide curve around the base of the Bree-hill, with the hill behind us now, we reach the Road at last. Ahead of us, the Road runs swiftly downhill into wooded country. I snort, sending long plumes of steam into the air, for I know now where we are! I have walked this stretch of the Road to the Chetwood many times, including that last time, laden with as much baggage as my newly introduced Companions had the heart to give me. 

Indeed, all of them bore heavy burdens to save me some trouble at least, and it seemed to me that the hobbit I came to know as my own laboured under the heaviest load of all the hobbits in the party. Yet he did not complain... in fact, when the Master asked him if, perhaps, he "ought to give up" some of what he carried "to the pony", he answered that he could take more, by your leave, Mister Frodo.

I did not know what to think of the Master's answer, not on our first day of acquaintance. Only moments earlier, as we stood before the inn, he had patted me gently, and then he gave me an apple! As I gladly crunched the rare treat, he spoke kindly to me, and I thought that he might – just might – be trustworthy. 

When he spoke so sternly, only a few moments later, I admit to startling at his severe answer, delivered in a firm tone to the heavy-laden hobbit standing beside him. You do not have my leave, Sam! And do not ask such a boon again; you are already carrying more than your share, from what I can see.

The heavy-burdened hobbit ducked his head and pulled at his forelock, clearly abashed at his Master's rebuke. Beggin' your pardon, Mister Frodo...

I wondered then if the Master would lash out at him for daring to speak further! ...for such was my experience with my old misery. I learned early on that there was no placating the Man when I'd displeased him. All I could do was stand stolidly, as if his curses and foul insults held no meaning for me.

But no. Instead, Master placed a gentle hand on the heavy-laden hobbit's shoulder. No need, my faithful Sam, no need to beg my pardon. But I'll freely grant it to you anyway.

I remember, I laid my ears back when the Master rebuked the erring hobbit who obviously served him. Only to prick them forward again, curious and relieved as he followed the rebuke with reassurance.

Somehow, despite the weariness in his face and form, he noticed the change in my demeanour and slowly reached to rub under my jaw. All's well, Bill, he said. And starting from that moment, I knew, somehow, I could trust him.

I am coming, Master, I say to him in my thoughts. I am coming to meet you – and my Sam! For wherever Master goes, my Sam will follow, and so I can only think that the three of us will always be together.

I pick up the pace, blessing the local traffic that has beaten down the snow on the Road, making for easier travel. The beaten track is wide enough that we are even able to trot side by side. The sound of our footfalls, muted by the snow underfoot, makes for a pleasant rhythm as we forge ahead.

Behind us, the Road bends southwards to round the feet of Bree-hill – but that is not the way we intend to go. No, I say aloud, but I will seek my hobbits in that marvellous Valley if I can... 

And why could you not achieve your aim? queries my companion cheerfully, arching his tail and tossing his head at our success in bypassing Bree without encountering any two-legged travellers who might try and interfere with us. I begin to believe you can accomplish whatever you set your mind to do...

I toss my own head in mingled determination and joy. The Road stretches before us, and trotting downhill takes little or no effort. Yes, many miles lie ahead of us, as I well remember...

And then my hobbits' best laid plans arise to snare us.

When we are nearly to the trees, a chorus of howls breaks out on our offside – from southwards, that is – close and rapidly closing, for the wind is out of the North and carrying our scent to them. They are on the hunt!

The great horse screams and rears up, beating the air with his front legs. Trapped! he cries. Should we leave the beaten track, they'll quickly catch us and pull us down! But we've not enough clear footing here to fight them! There is no fear in him, at least not fear for himself, I think, but more of fury and grim desperation.

The South-gate! I gasp. For the dike that guards the town is deep, and its companion hedge is high and thick. Though wolves or other marauders might cross the dike on one of the causeways leading into the town, they will find a tall, heavy gate barring them from entering. But Bree is some miles behind us...

Too far! my companion snorts, dropping to stand on all fours and shaking his head. They will catch us and pull us down well before we can reach the gate. Perhaps we were too lucky in our effort to avoid the town. He raises his head to scan the snowy landscape. Be ready! he snaps. They'll be upon us soon...

The Voices of guard and guiding may have deserted me at Tall Hat's passing, but I seem to hear my dam speaking in the midst of the unfolding disaster. Some Rangers were lost with their horses if they were caught out in the open, where the snow was deeper, but some of them were able to outrun their pursuers and to reach safety, those who were near the town gates or the Chetwood, where the snows were not so deep under the trees, or one of their settlements...

I throw up my head and whinny at the top of my voice. Quickly! Into the wood... under the trees! That way lies safety!

The great horse does not pause to question. He drops back, but he does not hesitate. Rather, he nudges me urgently, signalling me to take the lead in our flight.

There is no time to argue as to whether he or I should go first! I spring into motion and gallop down the slope towards the woods, hearing his hoofs pounding behind me as if he is driving me before him.

...but of course he is. Even as I race for all I am worth, my mind is turning over the problem. My companion is faster than any common horse, and he has no intention of leaving me behind to be caught by the wolves. I must run fast enough that they will not catch him, either! My breath comes short, my nostrils flare, and I put my head down and stretch out to put on a burst of speed as I see the dark, sleek forms crest the low hill just to our south.

I run under the trees and halt, blowing hard. Here! I manage to gasp. Head-to-tail, with this sturdy tree between us.

Fight them on three sides and shield the fourth! he agrees, tossing his head, then moving to take his place as I have indicated. His head faces my rear, and my head faces his; thus, if the wolves catch us between them, we can meet them with both kicks and strikes while the tree serves as a sort of shield between us.

He is facing outwards, back the way we came, watching the wolves as they rush to close the distance between us. Though I stand with my back to them, muscles quivering (both from having run at top speed to reach this place and from my readiness to lash out with my heels when the attack begins), my ears are turned back to listen behind me. I will know when they reach us almost as soon as he does. 

Meanwhile, I am facing deeper into the Chetwood. Thus, I am the one to see the dark shapes slipping from tree to tree deeper in the wood but quickly approaching, and my blood runs cold.

There's naught for it, my Sam whispers to me, and I nod and hold myself ready to fight for my life.

My Sam is with me, in my heart and in my thoughts, and I am not about to let a few wolves come between us.

***