Chapter 41. Having reached the Chetwood, we engage in battle

I feel the first shock of impact as the leading wolves launch themselves against the great horse. My companion whistles in rage, and I kick out rearwards. My heels connect solidly and satisfyingly with one or two of the attackers, and from the yelps I hear behind me, my horse friend is similarly administering punishment with his teeth and hoofs.

Time seems to slow. A memory of my hobbits discussing the nature of time, how it can seem to speed or slow depending on the circumstances, crosses my mind, but really, I am too busy at this moment to indulge myself in thoughts of those I hold dear.

I roar at the feeling of teeth scoring along my shoulder and turn to put my own teeth and hoofs to good use. At almost the same moment, the great horse squeals – there are too many wolves, this time, more than we can easily manage. From the sound of it, another set of slashing teeth has broken through our defences.

But I have too much to worry about on my own account, for some of the wolves have flowed around us and are leaping at my head. There's no time to worry about the dark shapes I saw moments ago, hidden amongst the trees but moving towards us. Yet even as I rear up to strike out at the wolves in front of me, aiming for the teeth that gleam in the dimness under the trees, the unknown enters the battle from afar. Though I would not deem them to be within striking distance, somehow they strike!

For as I am batting away one set of slashing teeth, the body of another attacker crashes against me, throwing me off balance, slamming me against our tree-shield and leaving me scrambling to regain my balance. If I should go down, I will be lost! These wolves are easily half the size of a Bree-pony, and some are larger than the others...

...belatedly, I realise there were no teeth in that last attack. The body of a wolf, stretched out on the ground, darkens the snow a little to one side, but it was not one of my hoofs that struck the creature down. As I regain my feet and rear up once more to meet three more attackers, two of them unexpectedly fall away, simplifying my choice of target. I shriek and strike the remaining wolf – only a glancing blow, to my disgust, for the snarling beast is twisting and turning away even as my hoof makes contact.

Suddenly, silence surrounds us. The wolves are inexplicably gone, except for the scattered bodies on the ground around us. Though I strain my ears, the only sound I can hear is my rapid breathing, interrupted only by the crunch of the great horse's front hoofs on the ice-crusted snow as he brings them to the ground once more. I can perceive his trembling – not born of fear but more the intensity of battle. I am trembling too, and ready to resume the fight at any moment; my eyes are as wide as I can open them, my nostrils flare, and I prick my ears as high as they will go and swivel them in all directions before settling for keeping one ear back to catch any sounds from my companion, and the other ear forward, towards where I last saw the dark, secretive shapes.

As the fury of battle drains away, details begin to emerge. Something about the dark bodies scattered over the snow is strangely familiar, and I ponder the feeling. Yes, o' course they are wolves, just as I saw after the Company's battle on the hilltop was o'er. By the light of the burning trees, those wolves were clearly visible – at least until the rays of the rising Sun melted them away. Some had been wounded by sword or axe, but many...

With a shock I recognise the shafts of arrows protruding from the bodies surrounding us.

Have we found the Company? Is the Wood Elf here?

I lift up my voice in a joyful neigh. Sam! My Sam! Master! Youngest! Merry!

And now, three tall figures are emerging from cover, moving cautiously. Our Big Men and the Wood Elf?

Because of my strong sense of familiarity, I stand firm as I wait and watch their approach, my head high and ears pricked fully forward as I whuffle to catch their scent. The wind is not in my favour, and I can catch only hints. 

I hear my companion moving; the great horse turns to face the oncomers and moves a little aside, his stance communicating his wariness. Watch out! he warns. They may try and capture you...

I nod in brief acknowledgement, even as I continue to sample the air. The closest smells much like Our Big Man (not the one with the shield), and his outer covering is so similar that the illusion persists almost until he reaches me. He reaches slowly towards me, and his voice is low and calming. 'Hullo, little fellow. Steady now. All is well.'

My head lowers almost without my conscious thought. He is not one of Our Big Men. Still, he seems familiar. After a moment of hesitation, I lower my nose to his cupped palm. Surprisingly, I find sweetness there, sweetness that crunches between my teeth. The fingers of his other hand soothe my neck as he murmurs comfort.

Here is a Man who clearly understands my kind!

You know this Man? comes my companion's query, while at the same time another of the three tall figures speaks to my new friend. 'Do you know this pony, Halbarad?'

My new friend turns his head to the side and speaks. 'I could swear this is Ferny's pony – the one who left with our kinsman...'

I toss my head and push against him in protest. I am not Ferny's pony, not anymore! I saw the coins change hands!

Large, gentle hands catch my nose between them, and my new friend chuckles, then murmurs, 'Steady, my friend.'

The second Man comes closer and scrutinises us, his gaze moving from me to my equine companion. His eyes widen, and then he touches my new friend's arm and hisses, 'The horse!'

I notice that the third Man stands aloof, an arrow nocked to his bow, and his eyes are never still as he scans our surroundings. All three bear a strong resemblance to Our Big Man (the one without the shield)! Impossible though it seems, I am beholding three Rangers together!

The possibility of young Rangers and Ranger settlements becomes real to me for the first time. But that is neither here nor there, as my hobbits are fond of saying.

'What of the horse?' my new friend croons, stroking my cheek and jaw, seeming to half-listen – but his eyes under his hood are keen and aware of everything passing around us.

'Is this not the lord of the Mearas, Mithrandir's companion?'

'Shadowfax,' my new friend breathes, leaving off his caresses. He turns to face my companion, reaches into a pocket for something, and then extends his hand towards the lord of horses.

The great horse softens at the sound of his name, and he lowers his head and stands firm, neither stamping a front hoof in warning nor laying his ears back at the Ranger's approach.

My new friend bows to the lord of horses, and my companion inclines his head in response as if granting the Ranger permission to approach. Which the Man does. And then the great head dips to the extended hand, and as it rises again, I hear the crunching of my companion's teeth.

Yet the Man does not try to touch the great horse, does not offer such caresses as he gave to me. He simply stands within reach – but not reaching, if you take my meaning – and addresses my companion. 'Where did you leave him?' he says, and tilts his head slightly as he regards the great horse. 'Where might your companion be now, I wonder...?'

For my companion's head droops at the question, and he shakes his head sadly and snorts low and long.

'And if the pony has come home, then where might our kinsman be, along with the ones he was guiding?' the second Man says.

The third Ranger remains silent. He has other fish to fry, as my hobbits might say. It belatedly strikes me that he is standing watch over us all, and I nod my thanks in his direction.

Though he seems to be looking everywhere at once, a quality I noticed about Our Big Man as I travelled with him, this Man sees my gesture and nods back.

Indeed, our reinforcements – I would not call them our rescuers, for though we might not have emerged from our most recent battle unscathed, I had every confidence that we would beat off the wolves at last – why, from all appearances, they must be Rangers!

Even if there are three of them in one herd... or flock... or pack... or what ever a group of Rangers might call themselves. For, as I may have mentioned, I have always perceived them as solitary creatures.

Perhaps my hobbits, were they here with us in truth and not merely in my memory, could supply the appropriate term?

***