Andros awoke with a start. All was dark, but for the smouldering ashes of the fire; he could discern no noise that would have disturbed his sleep, only the soft sound of Taradan’s shallow breathing. Nothing seemed amiss, and yet… There was a restlessness to be felt in the woods; it infected him, making it impossible to go back to sleep. A sense of urgency gripped him, and as a barely perceptible lightening on the eastern horizon became visible through the tree branches, he came to a decision.
They would move on as soon as daylight came. Andros did not know whether Taradan would have enough strength to travel, but he was certain that they could no longer remain there waiting. His sturdy horse could carry both, at least for some distance. Soon he had the fire burning brightly, heating the rest of the nourishing broth he had prepared the day before. Both men drank it, savouring the warmth of the liquid that made their breakfast of dry waybread more palatable.
“Will you be able to hold yourself and ride behind me, Taradan?” Andros asked. His wounded companion’s face was drawn, speaking eloquently of pain, but he simply answered, “Yes.” Andros made sure that the fire was quenched; they had had enough of burning trees! Then they mounted the horse, which waited patiently with packed saddlebags, and headed northwards.
__________________
'Mercy!' cried Gandalf. 'If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more do you want to know?' 'The whole history of Middle-earth.. .'
|