It had been an uneventful six days.  They were many leagues south of the Old Forest Road at the ambush point where Borondir had battled for his life not long ago.  Yet it had been quiet as far as their presence now.  For Eorl it meant that the battle to his south was imminent.  The Balchoth had withdrawn most of their northern raiders for it.

It did not, however, proclaim safety.  Far from it.  As the morning had worn on the skies had darkened.  A thick, low deck of clouds had unrolled form the east towards the vales of the Anduin, gathering from its source in Dol Guldur thirty leagues away.  The air grew still and sullen. 

“What say you Borondir?” Eorl turned in the saddle towards him.

Borondir reached into a saddle bag, drew out a scroll and unrolled it.

“It comes from the southeast, where Dol Guldur lies, thirty leagues distant.“

“Aragost?”  Eorl turned to his left.

“Sauron himself may be there, the secret hand behind the Balchoth.  We would be well advised to keep our distance.  We know not what may lurk in Mirkwood to our east or what is hidden in his dark skies.”

“Then we will make for the Anduin and cleave close to her shores.” Eorl decided.

“Under the watchful eye of the Lady of Dwimordene as you know Lorien” Aragost replied.  “But naught to fear as long as we do not trespass on the far shore.”

Eorl then mustered the eohere.  A blast on his horn, followed by those of his Marshalls and the host made west to escape Dol Guldur’s gloom.  By early afternoon they were closing on the Anduin when a fine white mist drifted from the shrouded west shore, wraithy tendrils crossing the river moving east towards them.  Eorl sensed hesitancy in the men. 

 “We must ride on” he shouted.  “We cannot go east nor retreat north.  We will not be stayed by river fog!”

With that he spurred Felarof on, tearing through the first ribbons of mist.  Soon they could see that the mist was beginning to drive back the low gloom of Dol Guldur and their spirits brightened.  Ahead they sped into the fog

They were in a realm of light, for the mist did not block the sun, instead spread its glow about them in a quiet shadowless luminance.  To their left and right the mist thickened, white walls providing cover.

“The Lady of the Wood protects us this day” Borondir marveled.

“So it seems,” said Eorl, “And Felarof feels no evil and I trust him in that.”

Eorl put his hand to Felarof’s side, his palm pressed against his snow white body.  “Feel his heart beat.  Over one hundred leagues ride and he is restored and strains to break loose.  Then let us go while we have such secrecy and make speed if we are to save the day.”

Eorl galloped off and the host of the eohere followed him south.  The mist enveloped them, muffling the sound of seven thousand horses as if they were flying though a cloud.  Like Felarof, their horses too felt new vitality in them, a gift of the mist the men mused. 

On they went the rest of the day and the next day as well, ever south, swaddled in mist sent by Galadriel, the Lady of the Wood, hoping they would be in time.