Chapter 47. We must deal with a sudden change in plans

To my surprise, we emerge from the hidden cavern into daylight. O' course, there was no way to mark the passage of time when we were underground. Rangers came and went. Perhaps some of them left the lighted portion of this place and delved deeper, like moles or badgers...

(or Dwarves? or the Company behind the Doors of Moria?)

...to find darkness to sleep in. Though, come to think on it, they may have taken turns laying themselves down in the cavern, just as horses and ponies may sleep under the light of the Sun, stretched out on the grass. Just as the Company travelled through the night hours and slept during the day.

I have no objections to travelling whether the Sun is shining or sleeping, just so long as I am on my way.

But wait. Just outside the entrance, our Ranger-guide sits upon a horse of his own, watching his fellow Rangers emerge from the cavern. As my companion and I reach him, he raises a staying hand. We stop and prick our ears towards him – out of courtesy more than obedience. He has no claim on us, but he did join in battle on our side, and afterwards, he ordered that our injuries should be cared for and that we should be fed. Thus, we seem to have no reason to defy him at this moment.

He nudges his horse a little closer, looks from me to the great horse, and speaks. You are welcome to accompany us along the Road and enjoy the protection provided by our numbers and presence until we turn off to reach the Angle. With our horses double-burdened, the pace we set will easily allow the pony to keep up. And then he nods at me in a friendly way.

My companion turns his head to meet my gaze, and we consult wordlessly. At last, the great horse looks back at the Man and nods. We accept your offer and thank you for your courtesy.

The Ranger bows his head and touches his hand to his forehead in a strangely courtly gesture that reminds me strongly of Our Big Man. When he raises his head again, he gestures to us to proceed him, and as we move to follow the rest, he takes up the rear behind the column of riders and four-footed members of the travelling party.

From the feel of the ground underfoot, we are taking a different way than our blind-folded approach to the Rangers' hiding place. I find myself wondering if we have come out through a different entrance than the one we came in by? ...though there is no way of really knowing. From their posture and the set of their heads and shoulders, all of the riders are relaxed but alert, calling to my mind some of the lessons I overheard between the Other Big Man (the one with the shield) and my hobbits before we left that marvellous Valley where I am bound to go. When he heard they would be travelling with the Company, he took it upon himself to teach you how to effectively use those swords you carry, and not just wear them as if they're ornaments rather than weapons...

They often trained upon our meadow, which features a variety of footing, smooth and grassy in some places and rough and rocky near the stream that flows through the pasture, as well as both flat and hilly ground.

Relax! I remember hearing him say to Youngest as Merrylegs and I graze nearby. No... no! You must relax your muscles, or you'll exhaust yourself before the battle even begins!

I beg your pardon, but I am as relaxed as someone can be, holding a sword and anticipating an attack! Youngest protests.

The Big Man laughs and answers in the same vein, I beg your pardon, but you are not!

But I am!

Another laugh, deep and pleasant. My grazing has brought me close to him, and now I raise my head and nuzzle his arm. Almost absently, he rubs my jaw as he answers, If you call that "relaxing", then I'm an old granny sitting by the fire!

All my hobbits are laughing now, and after a moment, even Youngest joins in.

Better! the Big Man calls suddenly, and I startle. But he pats my neck in reassurance and resumes his delightful jaw-scratching endeavours. Laughter can help, if it's true laughter – from your belly – and not just a nervous titter! Here now, sheathe your blade... and he leaves me to walk over to Youngest and places his large, warm hands on the smallest Hobbit's shoulders. When you laughed just now, I saw you take a full breath for the first time since our lesson started. You were breathing too rapidly, and shallow breaths at that, and in danger of making yourself light-headed. Which... he chuckles ...is not an effective battle technique.

As I watch in interest, he puts Youngest through a series of exercises – breathing deeply, rolling his shoulders – Keep them down and relaxed, not tight and bunched up around your ears like a courtier's collar! – shaking out his hands and arms, stretching his limbs, and more.

And then he reminds Youngest of the drills they have practised: first swinging the sword slowly and gently back and forth to catch the balance, rhythm and movement, and then slow footwork, concentrating on form and balance.

At first, the other hobbits merely recline in the grass, watching as if this is a play being put on for their entertainment, but soon they have all jumped to their feet and are going through the drills along with Youngest. The Big Man occasionally stops to correct the form of one or another, but he keeps the drill going until all my Hobbits are wiping sweat from their brows and breathing deeply.

Only then does he take up his stout stick and challenge Youngest to advance and strike!

As they finish their practice bout, I can see Youngest's face glowing with effort and pride as the Big Man commends his efforts. Much better!

*** 

So deep in my thoughts and memories have I been that it is a surprise to see the trees thinning ahead – and then the snow underfoot grows deeper, much deeper as we cross into the open between the edge of the Chetwood and the Road, some way to the east (if my reckoning is right) of where the Road crosses through the lower stretches of the Wood. Trotting at the end of the long column of horses means that the snow presents no barrier or hindrance to me; rather, the hoofs of those going before me have beaten the snow into a lane of sorts, leading to the larger beaten lane that is the Road.

I do not know how long or how far we have travelled through the Chetwood, but the open Road lies just ahead.

And then, just as our hoofs touch the Road itself, my companion throws up his head and screams, then rises on his hind legs and beats at the air, flailing wildly.

I duck away, even as I wonder if Fear travels the Road once more and will soon overtake our party! Some of the Rangers ahead of us pull bows from their backs, while others unsheathe their swords and hold them in readiness as their horses dance beneath them.

But there is more of disbelieving joy than there is of terror in the great horse's voice. At the same time, I am frozen in confusion, my thoughts jumbled and echoing inside my head.

'Halt!' calls our Ranger-guide behind us, though the order seems hardly necessary. His sword is in his hand, but he holds it low as he urges his horse forward, to come even with us. 'What is it, great one?' he demands of my companion.

Olórin! Mithrandir! the mighty horse whistles, dropping his front hoofs to the ground once more. My Rider is calling me! I must go to him!

Calling you! I echo in astonishment. But how...?

Sent back! my companion whickers. Or so he has told me just now... I do not know what it means – nor, really, do I care! He calls... and I must go...!

Your Rider calls to you to come to him? our Ranger-guide demands. Is he near?

...and I belatedly realise he does not know of Tall Hat's fall. We never told him or any of the others, meaning these Rangers or the horses with them.

As if our Ranger-guide's question has brought him up short, my companion stops dancing (though he continues to quiver in his eagerness) and plants his feet. He tosses his head a few times before stilling himself enough to give an answer.

Quietly now, he says, Not near. I must make all speed to meet him again...

And then he turns his eyes to me, and he snorts low and long. But I have made a promise...

I push at him with my nose. Go! I say to him, even as joy rises up in me and bubbles over like a vigorous spring that rises from rocky ground to form a life-giving stream. Go to him! All will be well with me...

And though I could not tell him how I know this to be true, yet it is true! For the Voices have returned! ...and they are telling me exactly that.

***