Chapter 45. We discover a mutual acquaintance

As our helper leads us to a gate in the fenced-off area of the cavern, the horses who are gathered there, seeming more curious than welcoming, make way for us.

All but one, a tall, proud fellow. Though his coat is as rough as those of the other horses surrounding him, he has a certain look about him – what I've heard Men call a fine head and an intelligent eye, along with long yet sturdy legs that promise both stamina and speed. Well-brushed in the summertime, as I can imagine, and with his coat burnished to a shine, he'd be sleek and – though darker in colour and somewhat "lesser" than one of the statuesque Mearas – handsome enough to bear a King. 

However, at the present moment, he receives rather more exasperation than admiration from our helper, the Snow-Ranger. 'Roheryn!' she chides aloud, and then lapses into more familiar speech. Step back from the gate, you big lump, and let these visitors enter and find at least some rest and refreshment!

Refreshment! he answers with a shake of his head. But then he takes a slow step or two backwards. Who am I to deny such august visitors refreshment?

My thanks, I say to him as I pass under his nose. I hear the gate close behind us, but the idea of being confined within a cavern that features hayracks stuffed full of hay is not so distressing as it might be under other circumstances.

After all, I have our Ranger-guide's assurance that we will soon be on our way again.

The dark horse nods – rather impatiently, it seems to me – and immediately addresses my companion. What news, Felaróf-son? What word of my Rider might you bring to me? For I know that in past times, he has travelled far with your Rider, and may well do so again...

But my companion only bows his head in sorrow. I've no news for you, Far-Runner and Lady's Gift. I... he says, stops, takes a deep breath and sighs it out again, I... lost my head... when he was lost to me. And now all is darkness.

The dark horse throws up his head. Lost...? he says sharply. How?

Though the hay in the racks is calling to me – or so it seems to me – I return to stand staunchly at the great horse's side. Let him be, I say.

The Ranger horse lays his ears back and surveys me closely. And who are you...?

Who I am matters little or not at all, I answer. But my companion has suffered loss, and I would not have you grieve him further when he is already grieving.

You're a plucky little devil, the dark horse says in surprise, pricking his ears at me once more. I did not know that a Bree-pony could be so bold! Are you one of our own after all? You have a little of that look about you... though I had thought all our ponies had been moved with their Ranger-families to the Angle for safety after my Rider left word that Fear had returned to the Northern lands, along with Orcs and other menaces, and our settlements near the Bree-lands were in greater danger than before. Only this small portion of the Watch remains – and that, for how long, I wonder?

I know not, I say in reply.

Be so good as to let the little fellow alone, that he may eat! He's naught much more than a shaggy coat draped over bones! breaks in another of the horses "stabled" here.

I reach over to nudge my companion. Come, I say. We have many miles to go before we reach the Valley, and a bite or two of hay will go a long way, I should imagine.

The great horse raises his head again, the dark horse moves aside, and together my companion and I cross the space to the hayracks unmolested by further questions and, curiously enough, unchallenged by those who were here before us. These horses are sure of their place, it seems, and have no need to test a newcomer to see where he might belong.

Sharing a rack between us is no trouble at all; the great horse pulls mouthfuls of sun-cured hay from the top of the rack, while I draw from the bottom. And from the look of things, there is plenty more where that came from. The Rangers' horses move to the other racks to graze, and soon the only sound in our part of the cavern is the soft sound of hay slipping out from the abundance of fodder in a rack, followed by homely chewing sounds and an occasional quiet snort.

When he has eaten his fill for the moment, the dark horse moves to the gate again and stands with his head high in a listening pose, seeming relaxed but alert.

In the other part of the cavern, Rangers come and go, busy about their various tasks. They work very quietly, and their talk is even quieter. I can hear a murmur of voices here and there but cannot distinguish any words. The atmosphere is calm and purposeful, giving the feeling that Rangers have sheltered here for a long time, and will continue to do so into future days...

*** 

...but the dark horse is back, head thrown high, and quivering with impatience. He paws at the stony floor – but gently, as if he has been trained to caution, making only the lightest scraping sound. You there! Bill!

I pull a quick mouthful of hay before turning to meet him, chewing. How do you know my name? I say through my mouthful when I reach him. 

Snow told me, comes the reply.

They must have conversed after our helper brought me a large basin filled with a warm bran mash mixture. How kind! How comforting! I thanked her, but she only patted me and told me to eat it while it was still warm. Snow did not have to tell me twice! She turned away, and I buried my face in the bowl and paid no heed to my surroundings until I had licked up the last of it.

My companion has also left off grazing and now stands beside me. He levels a steady gaze at the dark horse and says, very quietly, You would do well to refer to my stalwart friend as Greatheart. It is the name the Wise have chosen for him.

The dark horse raises his head in surprise, but he is no fool, or so it appears. For next he ducks his head, that he may see eye-to-eye with me. If you please, Greatheart, he says humbly. And it is not fear of the Lord of Horses that makes him speak in this way, for his gaze meets mine steadily, his ears are pricked forward, directly at me, and after that brief look of surprise, he does not roll his eyes at my companion nor swivel an ear in the great horse's direction.

It is as if he knows who the Wise are. Which is more than I can say with any certainty, though I have my own ideas about the matter.

I swallow my mouthful of hay. What would you wish of me?

I... he begins, and blinks. Is that a wistful tone?

I wait. 

He stares at me for a long moment. At last, he begins again. I do see the resemblance, he says.

I lift my head higher. Resemblance?

You were Ferny's, he says. I remember you.

No longer, I counter, rather fiercely and not at all politely, I am sorry to confess. Someone watching us might think the dark horse offered unspeakable insult on seeing me lay my ears back, bare my teeth, and squeal in quiet fury.

No one tells me to steady myself, to stand steady, to calm myself. None of my hobbits is here to say, Steady, Bill. There's a good fellow.

But I have grown since the dark stairs swallowed my companions, in wisdom and understanding if not in stature. I steady myself.

Perhaps it is only the memory of the Voices that I hear in the back of my mind: There's a good fellow.

The dark horse did not jerk his head away at the threat I offered just now but stands solid, head lowered, regarding me stolidly.

When my ears come forward once more, he nods slightly. No longer, he agrees. Though I was not there, and I only heard about it sometime afterwards, I know that coins changed hands.

So, I say. What would you wish of me?

He blinks again. And yes, his tone is indeed wistful as he says, Tell me of my Rider. Please. I would have any news of him that you might care to provide.

Your Rider? I ask, and look at him curiously. How would I know your Rider?

But you do know him! he insists. You left the town with him, along with those smaller two-legs that he guided.

Realisation washes over me like a sudden downpour of rain. Our Big Man!

He ducks his head lower. Yes, he says. I suppose that would be an excellent name for a Ranger travelling with a pony and four of the Small Folk.

You heard about it sometime afterwards? I query. You were not with him, and so he must needs go a-foot?

The dark horse's head droops on his neck until his muzzle brushes the stone floor. Fallen wisps of hay swirl around in the wind of his heavy sigh. I lost my head, he says, very low.

And then my companion, the great horse, says a surprising thing. The stable-doors were all opened in the night, and all the ponies were gone, along with every other horse and beast in the place. At least, that's what the innkeeper told my Rider, along with other news that eased his mind enough that he took a night of rest, which made me glad. But the stables were empty when my Rider led me to my own rest; that I saw with my own eyes.

We fled in terror before the Fear that encompassed and pervaded the town, Our Big Man's horse confesses.

I bow my head, as does my companion. I knew that Fear myself, felt the terror that drove all the other beasts in the town to flee, but I could not escape like they did. Ill-kept as my shed might have been, it was still stronger than even a fear-crazed pony. 

My companion withstood that same Fear, but only by the strength of his Rider. As things stand, he knows all too well the shame of having lost his head.

But the dark horse is still speaking. Many of us were found later, wandering, in different corners of the Bree-land, he says. The Ranger who found me brought me to this place, and here I have stayed ever since. He raises his head again to look me in the eye. But what can you tell me of my Rider?

I meet his gaze steadily. I too know the ache of missing my chosen one. And so I feel pity for him stirring in my heart. What little I can tell him, I will. When last I saw him, he was alive and well. But that was many days ago, and since then...

***