Chapter 9. At last I am able to quench my thirst

Under the light of the Sun, the wolves scattered at our feet scarcely look fearsome, though I admit I do not care to look too closely. At least the attackers on that hillside, unnatural as they might have been, did not clutter the landscape with their remains. I find I must pick my way carefully at first, lest I stumble over one of last night's ill-fated assailants. 

As we leave the shaggy grey bodies behind, our shadows travel ahead of us, beckoning us on, a long shadow and a shorter one. We plod along at the pace of a weary pony weakened by hunger and thirst. 

My Companion is wondrously patient. He occasionally reaches over to offer a gentle nudge, but it is more of an encouragement than a goad. Foot by foot by foot by foot, he tells me, and I nod wearily.

At some point I notice that our shadows, slowly shortening as the Sun climbs in the sky, are not directly ahead but seem to stream from our shoulders instead of our noses. In those shadows that stretch ahead of us, I can see the oddly compacted forms of a horse and a pony.

Noticing that I have lifted my head for a better look, my Companion nuzzles my shoulder and says, You are indeed clever, little one. We are travelling more north-west than straight west at the moment.

I nod, though truth be told, I would not have known how to name our direction of travel. But my Companion seems familiar with the speech used by Men, more so than any other horse I have known.

And then an elusive scent makes me lift my weary head higher, nostrils flaring. Water?

Yes, Greatheart, he answers. A spring emerges from the ground just ahead, and it forms a rivulet that runs into the Gate-stream. It is the closest water source to where I found you... We will drink our fill before we continue. However, I can promise that grazing lies ahead of us, and more water for the drinking. I have great hopes that we will not go thirsty from this point onward...

My Companion, however, seems to hold odd ideas about drinking our fill. Once we reach the place where marvellously refreshing, icy water bubbles from a bucket-shaped depression in the ground, he lets me drink first. I touch my muzzle to the water and toss my head to make a splash. Yes! This water is real, unlike the dreams of water that have haunted me ever since I first entered this desolate, broken country.

Drink, little one! My Companion snorts with laughter.

I'm drinking! I mumble through a mouthful of sweet, life-giving liquid.

But I manage only a few swallows before the Big Horse shoulders me away from the spring. Hoi!

At my protest, he says calmly, We would not have you founder after the long drought.

He slowly lowers his face to the water for a few well-spaced, almost-contemplative sips. Ah, he says in satisfaction. Just as delicious as I remember from the last time I came this way.

He lifts his dripping muzzle, his gaze demanding. Soon I will let you drink again, he says. Very soon. But can you stop after two or three swallows – I know you can count that high – and turn away, and wait before you drink again? Or must I...?

I think I can, I say slowly. It is a new thought to me. When horses and ponies are very thirsty, they can and sometimes do drink themselves to death! ...strange as that may sound. Thus, when one of us comes to the end of a journey or a long day of work, the safest course is to offer a little water in the bottom of a bucket, at first, adding small amounts of water to the bucket over a span of time to save us from our own foolishness.

My dam was the first to tell me of the danger of foundering oneself. My guide in that marvellous Valley where I hope to see Merrylegs again reminded me of the practise of offering a little water on one's homecoming, and I can likely expect the same welcome when I return.

I never had to worry about foundering under the so-called care of my old misery; he was too lazy to fill my water bucket more than half-full, much less refill it after he'd filled it in the first place.

My Companion nudges me, jarring me from my thoughts. Go ahead, he says pleasantly, and I realise that he stepped out of my way a moment or two ago.

My thanks, I breathe, and lower my head to the small bowl of bubbling water.

I remember to count three swallows – I may have mentioned that I can count as high as four – and lift my head again, enjoying the sensation of water dripping from my muzzle. I can almost hear one of my Hobbits say, Plenty more where that came from! The thought gives me both a pang and a warm feeling at the same time.

Well done, my Companion says, and he lets his nose droop until it touches the surface of the water, then takes a few more swallows of his own.

We continue to take turns drinking until thirst has faded completely. When I lift my head with no feeling of reluctance for the first time since I started drinking, the Big Horse fixes me with a kindly eye and says, Better?

Much! I say, tossing my head up and down.

Then let us go, he says, and turns away from the spring. We will follow the rill south-westward – that means your shadow will beckon from your other shoulder – to the Gate-stream, and when we reach the streambed we'll turn to go west – following the Sun as she slips down the sky-bowl. By the time she lies herself down in the soft bedding prepared for her in her stall beyond the horizon, we will find something-or-other to graze upon. 

That sounds quite promising, I reply, and my Companion laughs again.

I can see we shall get on famously, he says. You are quite the amiable travelling companion.

I do my best, I say, ducking my head, feeling suddenly shy.

He gently nibbles my withers, a pleasant and soothing sensation. O' course you do, he says, sounding almost like a fellow pony.

Strengthened by having been able to drink my fill, and heartened by the wisdom and benevolence of my Companion, I nod my head and set off in the direction he indicated, following the trickle of water and doing my best to orient myself so that my shadow flows ahead of me from my other shoulder.

The great horse follows not far behind, indicating his confidence in my ability to maintain the right direction, thereby bolstering my own confidence.

The Voices have fallen silent again, and I find myself wondering if They sleep? Or perhaps there is some other reason for leaving me to my own thoughts. From my short experience with them thus far, I can take comfort in the thought that silence has seemed to mean I was going the right way.

And now I find myself wondering if I will still have the Voices when I reach that marvellous Valley where the old pet waits and Merrylegs grazes?

One question after another arises as I amble along. No nips come from my Companion to hurry my pace. Perhaps he understands the weakness that still afflicts my limbs, for though the water was refreshing and reviving, I cannot remember my last meal.

Pondering each question in turn is diverting... almost as if Youngest walks at my head, peppering my other Hobbits with one question after another after another... 

Somehow the feeling brings me closer to my Hobbits even as my senses tell me the distance between us is growing with every step we – they and I, that is – take.

I sigh but continue pacing steadily without pausing. Something tells me that my Hobbits will seek to return to that marvellous Valley, and I intend to be there to welcome them when they arrive at last.

***