Chapter 42. We heed the advice of a Ranger

I turn my head and bend my neck at a gentle touch; the second Ranger has pulled back his hood, perhaps to see better in the shadowy Wood, and is carefully probing my shoulder. 'But you are injured,' he says, raising his eyes to meet my inquiring glance. 'And not for the first time... I can see the healing scar of a previous injury here...'

I blow softly in answer, ruffling his dark hair.

He raises his voice, though not by much. Indeed, his voice is barely a murmur as he speaks to my new friend. 'The pony has been scored by at least one set of wolf's teeth, though the bleeding is minimal... and what of Shadowfax? It sounded to me in the midst of the battle as if at least one of the wolves might have marked him.'

My new friend bows again to the great horse and says, 'If I may, my lord Shadowfax?'

I snort. If I had the power of speech, I might say (like one of my hobbits) that he is laying it on a bit thick.

Yet his display of deference seems an effective approach, for the great horse stands as still as a statue as the Ranger moves a step closer and dares to lay his palm against the proud neck. From there, as if his palm anchors him to the horse, he slides his hand along to the shoulder and then down the foreleg to the cannon, bending to follow the lead of his hand, until he stops part-way between knee and fetlock. He speaks quietly. 'One of them tried to lame you, did he, by leaping to catch your leg in mid-air and seeking to snap the bone between his powerful jaws?'

He releases the great horse's leg and straightens, surveying the bodies behind us. 'I have no doubt the creature suffered crushing regret not long after...' 

From somewhere he produces a cloth and ties it around the great horse's foreleg between knee and fetlock, where I can see dark streaks running down, marring my companion's silvery limb. My companion and I keep a close watch on his actions. He looks up and, seeing us both lay back our ears at his presumption, mutters, 'It would be better if we did not leave a blood trail...' Ah. I prick one ear forward again, as does my companion.

To the second Ranger, he says, 'Such wounds tend to fester. It is my counsel that we take them back to the camp and deal with their injuries.'

'Not back to the town?'

My new friend snorts a laugh. 'I doubt you could confine one of the Mearas to a stall without his Rider's agreement and assistance, much less lead him through the South-gate without his leave...'

I echo the Man's snort, and he turns to regard me thoughtfully. 'And I sense that things stand much the same with the pony. Though he looks like the same pony that departed with our kinsman – a little leaner, perhaps – in other ways he seems a completely different animal.'

My new friend steps back to address the great horse and myself equally. 'If you please, my lords,' he begins. My lords? Surely he is spreading the butter more than a bit thick!

But he is still speaking. 'If it meets with your will to follow us to our camp, then it would be our honour and pleasure to care for your injuries...' 

This grim and rough-looking fellow is as fair-spoken as Our Big Man, when he puts on a courtly manner, as I have seen him do with my hobbits on more than one occasion.

The great horse lowers his head and touches his nose to mine. Does it 'meet with your will' to follow him? His tone is humorous, but then he continues in a more serious vein. Or would you rather that we continue the journey you have set before us?

The third Ranger, momentarily forgotten, calls something softly, and my new friend and the second Ranger quickly pull their bows from their backs, string them, and nock arrows.

I scan the darkening Wood. Yes, the shadows are growing, and more...

These Rangers were not the only dark shapes I saw amongst the trees as the battle began, I say in answer. Where the wolf howls, the orc prowls, or so I have heard it said.

Dark shapes...? he begins.

You did not see them – you were watching the wolves' advance, I say. But the sight of them made my blood run cold.

You did not think to mention it at the time?

At the time, we were rather preoccupied with other matters.

Ra-ther, he grumbles.

I pay him no heed but advance on my new friend and nudge him firmly with my nose. Lead on, O Man!

'I think that's a yes,' the second Ranger says lightly, in little more than a whisper, while his eyes sweep the surrounding trees.

My new friend looks at me in surprise, and then looks to the great horse, and back to me. 'It appears the little one is in charge,' he whispers in reply. 'Very well. Let us make good use of the time before the daylight wanes altogether...' He turns away and begins to walk while his fellows seem to melt away to either side of our line of travel.

The silence of the forest is broken by the harsh call of a crow. Echoes answer from deeper in the Wood and then an uneasy silence resumes.

As we follow after, walking as quietly as we might, I look over at my companion. I am in charge?

It was my Rider's last order to me, the great horse lowers his head to whisper. I must follow your lead if I am to see you safely to your destination. After that...

What will you do? I ask, cocking one ear to listen closely to the tall horse, pacing by my side, while keeping the bulk of my attention on my new friend, walking just ahead of me. I do not know where the other two Rangers have taken themselves off to. My senses tell me they are nearby, but hidden from malevolent eyes.

He shakes his head very slightly, minimising the motion as if he, too, suspects the presence of unseen foes. I do not know, he admits. But my heart tells me there is something for me to do before the end...

The brown one... I say delicately.

The great horse touches his nose to mine again. Foot by foot by foot by foot, he breathes. Another chance to show my quality.

I blink. He sounds so much like my Sam in this moment. Show your quality? I ask. We walk a few more steps in silence.

He told me I must not lose my head, he answers at last. I failed the first test... yet "begin again" was his counsel to me. And so, it must be that another test lies in the future, another trial – too sore a trial, perhaps, but I must do my poor best though winged horrors swoop above me, crying my doom and the end of the world!

Surely it will not come to that! I protest.

Though he never stops walking, he bows his head to the ground and then raises it again. His next words startle me greatly. I am only a horse, he whispers. I raise my head and turn my face to look at him closely, and in my surprise and consternation my ears go back as of themselves, but he stares at the ground and does not meet my gaze. And then he goes on. I know not, he says, so quietly that I almost cannot hear him. I only know that I must be ready for whatever is about to befall me, now, and in future.

I scan the treetops above us for winged horrors, but see nothing out of the ordinary. Even the squirrels seem to be in hiding. At least they are not out and about – and chattering a warning!

We walk on.

***  

Night has fallen. We have journeyed deeper into the Chetwood than I have ever been, deeper, even than with Our Big Man (the one without the shield) if my memory serves me correctly, yet without incident, though darkness has overtaken us. It is not the same as the darkness I saw behind the doors where I was separated from the Company. The snow that carpets the forest floor is strangely luminous, allowing us to see where our next footsteps will take us.

I startle and halt when a chorus of shrieks and terrible yells rises behind us. My companion, the great horse, also halts, tossing his head high to scan in every direction. Yet my new friend keeps walking steadily, and after a moment's hesitation, my companion and I follow once more.

The third Ranger was not there a moment ago, but now he is there, and I hear his voice for the first time, low and pleasant in tone. I prick my ears forward to listen. 'That latest party of orcs struck just after we passed the sentries,' he murmurs to my new friend, our guide. 'Our message reached them in good time, and they were well-prepared to meet the attack.'

'Good of our old friends to do us the favour of attacking in force,' my new friend returns in an undertone. 'Much faster than to hunt them down singly or in small bands to safeguard the good citizens of the Bree-land.'

The third Ranger makes a dismissive sound that is not quite a snort and then fades away into the darkness once more.

Sentries? I query my companion.

It seems we are nearly to their camp, comes the reply. How interesting! I have never seen a gathering of Rangers before...

A gathering of Rangers... I think to myself. Perhaps that is the proper term for a group of such beings, though I would not have guessed it. A murder of crows, yes, that would seem to fit the crebain that our Company encountered along our path; and the harsh croaks and other cries that so recently sounded in the Wood could fit the phrase as well. (Unless that was the Rangers' signal going forth, and the calls did not come from the throats of crows at all? some part of my brain supplies.) An exaltation of larks... a huddle of hobbits...

I shake my head. If it were up to me to determine the proper phrase, I should be more likely to say, A solitude of Rangers.

But that would hardly describe a group or gathering together of the creatures, now, would it?

So perhaps gathering is the proper term after all.

*** 

Author's note: You have probably recognised several turns of phrase in the chapter that were drawn from or inspired by other sources, such as "something to do before the end" and "show your quality". I take no credit for identical or similar phrasing, except, perhaps, for having attempted to weave them seamlessly into the narrative.

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