The wraith landed on the ground, making a few leaves crunch. He eventually stood up, shaking off some leaves from his cloak and robes, straightening out his hood as well. He glanced at the steed, munching happily at the apples.
The Ringwraith looked up. "Curse thee, forest-wind!" was all that was heard, a hissing and thin, cold voice.
He was angry now that he had left his blade at the Dark Tower to rust, so that he may hew all of the trees, one by one. That would teach them not to mess with the Nazgûl! However, he remained silent. When the hobbit-children giggled at his misadventure, he let out a horrible screech that could be heard all the way from Bag End.
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- Ringwraith #5,
Servant of the Eye
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