Chapter 120. Perhaps the waiting is the most difficult part... 

We are no longer sheltering under a small hill; rather, we have climbed to the top. A broken circle of boulder-stones surrounds a knot of old and twisted trees upon the summit of the hill, as Master described it to Youngest just now. He is trying to distract the youngster from his fear and misery, for Youngest has – uncharacteristically – fallen silent. No endless stream of questions issues forth, no snippets of song or poetry muttered under his breath hover at the edge of hearing, but he hugs himself and shivers. Our companions pay them no heed, or seem to do so, perhaps at some subtle signal of Master’s or the not-Merry hobbit or, perhaps, because in comforting Youngest, Master is resting, something the hobbit is usually rather reluctant to allow himself when others are working. 

Even as the not-at-all Merry hobbit, along with the rest of our Party, scours the ground for firewood (except for the Fair One, who stands alert at the edge of the circle with an arrow notched to his bow, looking out over the wilderness surrounding our hilltop), Master stands next to Youngest hobbit, holding him close, his voice, though low, rising and falling in the sing-song cadence my hobbits adopt when telling old, old stories. ‘Who d’you suppose planted them, Pip? For it was ever so long ago, I deem...’

The worried smell wafting from Master grows stronger when Youngest returns no answer, no, but he might as well be a tree or boulder-stone himself, so still does he stand within the circle of Master’s sheltering arms. 

Suddenly, the Master breaks off from his storytelling and falls silent. Youngest does not respond, neither moves nor speaks, and I whicker my unease at this state of affairs. In the silence that follows, I clearly hear the crunch of someone’s footsteps nearby, the rustle of dried-up leaves on the broken branch one of the wood-gatherers collects immediately behind me. Since I know it is friend and not foe, I do not kick out at him, though I cannot refrain from jumping a little, as much as my hobbles might allow, and I tremble at every howl, near and far, that I hear. There is no escaping, and no hope that darkness and silence will keep us from the discovery of the hunting packs.

Even so, a fire springs up near the centre of the circle. We cannot hide from the hunters, or so Our Big Man has said. Moreover, Tall Hat seems to think that fire can offer a weapon for our defence.

Though I am hobbled and tethered to one of the gnarled trees, I move closer to Master and Youngest, the better to breathe warm air over them, what small comfort I can offer.

And so I am close enough to hear Master draw a shaking breath of his own and whisper brokenly, ‘I am so very sorry, Pip. I oughtn’t have—’

Unexpectedly, as if Master has all unawares hit upon a powerful tonic that he did not know he possessed, Youngest straightens from his panic-frozen stance. ‘Nonsense, Frodo,’ he says, and though his voice is thin, at least he is speaking – and responding – and now seems aware of Master and our surroundings, seems to have returned from wherever it was his mind had retreated and hid itself.

Indeed, he pulls one arm free of Master’s embrace and reaches past Master to pat my nose, as if noticing for the first time my proximity and concern. ‘Good Bill,’ he adds. ‘But what a grandiose term my cousin attributes to this little hillock – summit! I wonder what old Caradhras would say to that...?’ I have no answer to give him, but perhaps it does not matter. His eyes are no longer dull, unseeing, his face no longer blank. Colour is mounting in his cheeks, replacing the deathly pallor that had claimed him. I whicker again, more softly, and nod at him in my relief.

‘Pip,’ Master begins, but Youngest shakes himself free as if shedding a nightmare. 

‘Frodo!’ he says. ‘What’re you doing out here in the dark! You ought to be warming yourself by the fire! Indeed, I wonder what foodstuffs our good Samwise may have hidden away amongst the baggage that he might stir up a real good meal – something hot! – against the hope that we might chance a fire.’ And he takes Master by the hand and leads him to the fire, softly babbling more nonsense, to join those of our companions already sitting there. And is it my imagination, or is there a general lightening of the Party’s mood at Youngest’s return to light and life, even amidst the tension that fills us at this moment?

I pull at my tether to follow them, but it seems I must remain a few steps away from the rest. Perhaps they think I will trample them underfoot should I lose my wits from fear. Ah, but I am only a pony, and it is all too possible for me to lash out at a foe and injure a friend by chance.

And now we must wait. It was evening when we paused at the bottom of this hill, and the grey light waned quickly as we climbed to the top and I was hobbled and tethered (though not relieved of my burdens), and the wood-gatherers began their work. Now the night shadows are deep about us as the dark hours wear on to middle night. My companions sit around the fire, not talking, and I can smell the uneasiness of those that are not on watch, even as they sleep. I am not the only one who startles when a wolf howls nearby, amid the chorus of howling that surrounds us now, both near and far. I cannot seem to stop myself from trembling, and my hide is soaked in nervous sweat. Were it daylight, my nostrils would flare red in my agitation; I hold my head high and wary, and my eyes open as wide as they are able as I try to see all about me in every direction at once. 

Even so, I jump, despite my hobbles, and rear, and fight my tether, albeit without success, at seeing suddenly the flash of eyes outside the stones that ring the hilltop. I did not hear them approach, but they are here! A great dark wolf-shape stands menacingly where there is a gap in the stones, and at his fearsome howl, as if he is summoning an army of his kind, I rear and plunge in my restraints.

Yet Tall Hat seems undaunted; he stands to his feet, lifts his staff, and strides forward to confront the fell beast, shouting defiance. But the wolf springs at him; I throw my head higher and neigh in warning, and in the same moment, the Fair One’s bow twangs, and the monster shrieks and falls to the ground at the wizard’s feet.

And as suddenly as the marauders surrounded us and seemed poised on the brink of assaulting us, we find ourselves alone once more on the hilltop; the surrounding eyes just beyond the stones have vanished. Silence fills the darkness, save the soft sound of the steps of Tall Hat and Our Big Man prowling the perimeter of the ring of boulder-stones, and the soughing of the night wind.

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Author notes:

Some thoughts here are derived from “The Ring Goes South” and “A Journey in the Dark” from The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

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