It’s been rather too long since I’ve done an Inklings post. Last month’s was a scene with a horse in a book or film.
I agonised over what to choose for this for a grand total of perhaps a minute. I always talk about the Lord of the Rings. I could talk about it for hours. I really should choose something else. I am, after all, a well-rounded person with a variety of interests.
At length even Gimli could hear the distant beat of galloping hoofs.
The horsemen, following the trail, had turned from the river, and
were drawing near the downs. They were riding like the wind.
Now the cries of clear strong voices came ringing over the fields.
Suddenly they swept up with a noise like thunder, and the foremost
horseman swerved, passing by the foot of the hill, and leading the
host back southward along the western skirts of the downs. After him
they rode: a long line of mail-clad men, swift, shining, fell and fair
to look upon.
Their horses were of great stature, strong and clean-limbed; their
grey coats glistened, their long tails flowed in the wind, their manes
were braided on their proud necks. The Men that rode them matched
them well: tall and long-limbed; their hair, flaxen-pale, flowed under
their light helms, and streamed in long braids behind them; their
faces were stern and keen. In their hands were tall spears of ash,
painted shields were slung at their backs, long swords were at their
belts, their burnished shirts of mail hung down upon their knees.
In pairs they galloped by, and though every now and then one
rose in his stirrups and gazed ahead and to either side, they appeared
not to perceive the three strangers sitting silently and watching them.
The host had almost passed when suddenly Aragorn stood up, and
called in a loud voice:
‘What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?’
