Ransom dismounted in a patch of grass where several other guests had left their horses. Barebacked steeds of the elves and the heavy chargers of the Gondorian knights grazed alongside several ponies and a lonely black horse. He set about making himself presentable in the fasion of his people. Ransom pulled out a fourth quiver, filled to the brim with arrows, and clipped it to the wide belt that encircled his waist. His sword was slung over his shoulder, and the long feathers on his helm received a minute amount of attention.
Finally satisfied that he was presentable, he reverently removed the basket. A quick peek inside assured him that the offering for the hosts was still inside. And so, holding his bow in his left hand and the basket in his right, Ransom left his horse and continued on foot to the Glade, stopping every so often to gaze at other visitors.
[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]
[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]
__________________
"The blood of the dead mixes with the the flowing sand and grants more power to the killer."--Gaara of the Desert
|