"By my stars, if those children do not leave this house today, I swear I will deliver them to the Sorceress of the Golden Wood!" Théodwyn cried in exasperation.

"I had thought to keep Éomer here at least," Éomund said gently. "There is armor to be polished and oiled, and that would occupy him for quite a while."

"And that would also leave me with Éowyn," Théodwyn replied, "who would cry and beg until I let her go to her brother, at which point she and Éomer would immediately get themselves into mischief, and nothing at all would get done in this house or in the armor shed."

From their hiding place in the woodbin, nine-year-old Éomer exchanged a smile with his six-year-old sister Éowyn. All winter long, they had waited patiently for the blizzards to let up so they could run outside for a few hours and play in the snow. There had never been enough time outside, though, and both children had serious cases of cabin fever by the time spring came. They had had high hopes for playing outdoors in the spring sunshine, but there had been precious little of that so far. It had been a dreary, wet spring, which was good for thirsty crops, but not so good for high-spirited Rohirric children desperate to stretch their legs.

"The armor can wait another day to be polished, I suppose," Éomund said slowly. "I could get a start on training the new roan colt . . ."

Éowyn tried to stifle a squeal of glee, but could not stop a small squeak from escaping her. Théodwyn marched over to the woodbin and threw open the cover. Two small dirty faces grinned up at her. Théodwyn smiled back through her annoyance.

"There, you see, Éomund?" she said. "They were just looking for mischief. Éomer! Éowyn! Get out of the woodbin and wash your faces. I will make a field lunch for you, and then you two will take your ponies and ride as far away as you can. Run and play all day, and do not darken this door before dusk."

"Hurray!" The two children scrambled out of the woodbin and raced to the kitchen, leaving a trail of chips and twigs in their wake. Théodwyn rolled her eyes and reached for a broom.

Shortly thereafter, Éomer and Éowyn rode their ponies at the head of a small party of Éomer's friends whose mothers had come to the same conclusion about spring days and small boys as had Théodwyn. Ponies and children were all in high spirits, and the day seemed to be off to a promising start. The sun was shining properly at last, several more lunches had been added to Éowyn's saddle baskets, and the grassy plain beckoned with promises of races and fun.

Suddenly, the children heard a rumbling noise behind them. Erkenbrand, bringing up the rear, turned around. "Ooh, look!" he cried.

An éored of young Riders galloped by, led by Háma, heading out for the open land to practice maneuvers. Éomer and Éowyn caught a glimpse of their cousin Théodred among them, sitting tall and serious on his rangy horse Hruth. The children cheered as the soldiers passed them, earning themselves a few good-natured waves in return.

By the time the last soldier had galloped into the distance, the first game of the day had been chosen. "Follow me, Riders of Rohan!" Éomer cried, with as much authority as he could muster. "We are the best éored ever to ride out onto the plain, and I am the Great Marshal of the Mark!"

"What about Éowyn?" Ceorl asked. "She can't be a Rider in the éored. She's too little."

"Am not!" Éowyn pouted.

"Silly," Erkenbrand said. "She has to be in the éored. She's got all our lunches on her pony."

"My cousin Théodred says that provisions are the importantest part of being in an éored," Éomer said authoritatively.

"That means Éowyn's more important than you, Ceorl," Erkenbrand huffed. Ceorl stuck out his tongue for lack of a suitable retort.

"Éowyn's in the éored, and no arguing," Éomer declared. "Now, follow me. We have to go out and practice battling."

Everyone agreed that this was the best solution, and the miniature éored, complete with provisions, galloped out onto the wide grassland. The real éored was drilling somewhere far from sight, so the children had all the land they could see to themselves. The best part was practicing close formation. Children and ponies huddled all together until Éomer gave a shout, at which point they all surged forward. The formation was soon a thing of the past, but they had a lovely gallop anyway, shrieking and laughing and enjoying the wind in their hair.

They were less successful with turning. Éomer had occasionally seen the way an éored could turn around at full gallop in one graceful curve, like a flight of birds, but it seemed that there was some trick to doing it that he just couldn't master. He had a long stick with him to use as a spear, and every now and then, he would raise it high in the air and start to make a tight arc around. The little ponies, themselves no more trained in the arts of war than their riders, were confused by the sudden change of direction. They balked, ran in odd directions, nipped each other, and generally dissolved into chaos, accompanied by squeals of laughter from the children.

At last, worn out from a morning's hard play, Éowyn announced that she was hungry and wanted to stop.

"That's enough maneuvering, Riders of Rohan," said Éomer, who was also ready to stop, but glad that Éowyn had said so first. The children dismounted and carefully picketed the ponies so that they could lunch on the good sweet grass. Éomer picketed Éowyn's pony, as Éowyn wasn't quite big enough to hold the pony, the picket and the large rock for pounding the picket stake. Meanwhile, Éowyn fished the lunches out of her saddle baskets. Erkenbrand produced a blanket to sit on, and soon the great grassland was silent except for the sounds of children and ponies eating. Even those sounds soon died away as the effects of exertion and full bellies took hold, and one by one, the children dropped off to sleep.

They awoke from their naps feeling strangely sluggish and heavy. The sky had clouded over, and the air seemed utterly still. Being slightly chilly and still a little sleepy, the children huddled together on Erkenbrand's blanket. Although no one suggested it, they began naturally to tell stories. Most of the stories were funny, but a few were adventurous. Éowyn even told a story about the adventures of a pony queen, and the boys listened respectfully.

Éomer was the last to tell a story. He had given the matter some thought while listening to the others, and he had decided to tell a grand adventure. Casting about for a suitable subject, he vaguely remembered a story that had come from the North country, far away and long ago.

"Long ago," he began, "there was a little town, just like Edoras."

"Did it have éoreds?" Éowyn asked.

"No, it didn't," Éomer said. "It was a long way away, and they didn't have éoreds in that country. And they didn't have a king, either. They had a chief merchant-man, and they called him the Master."

"That's not right," Éothain objected. "They ought to have a king. It isn't a proper story without a king."

"Well, I'll get to that," Éomer said. "Now, be quiet so I can tell you what else they had." The others quieted down a little. "This town," Éomer went on, "had a problem. There was a mountain nearby, and in that mountain lived a dragon!"

Éowyn squeaked. She had heard of dragons from her father. They were enormous flying lizards that breathed clouds of fire and smoke and would eat a little girl right up in one mouthful. "There's no dragons here, right?" she asked nervously.

"No, there's not," Éomer said. Éowyn was comforted a little, but still, she wiggled a little closer to Erkenbrand on the blanket.

"It was a big dragon," Éomer told them. "It was as big as the whole entire town, and it was green and hot and slimy, and it breathed smoke and fire. And it had a treasure heap that it slept on -- gold and jewels, and it had a suit of armor for a pillow. Everyone wanted the treasure, but no one could have it because the dragon would eat them if they tried to get it.

"And then one day, an invisible burglar came and he stole the dragon's treasure right away while the dragon was sleeping. The dragon got mad, and flew over the town to attack it."

Éowyn shivered. She didn't like to think of the enormous fire-breathing dragon attacking all the mothers and fathers and big brothers and little girls in that town. Her mother had told her that there weren't any more dragons, but now she wasn't so sure. What would it be like if a dragon flew over Edoras, with its big dark body looming overhead, blotting out the sun? Sure enough, the sky did seem dark and threatening, and if she looked just right, the clouds did look like a giant green beast in the sky.

"The dragon flew all around, breathing fire and smoke and burning the town up," Éomer said. "Whoosh! Whoosh! All the houses caught on fire."

"That's why they ought to have a king," Éothain said. "If they had a king, he'd go and kill the dragon."

"I'm getting to that," Éomer told him. "But I have to tell about the dragon first, how it was big and dark and all the smoke and fire came out of it. And when it flapped its wings, it made a big wind that knocked everyone down."

Éowyn could feel that wind all around her, blowing her hair around her face. Éomer pushed his hair out of his eyes and went on with his story.

"And when it blew fire, there was a big cloud of smoke and such a loud roar like you've never heard in your life . . ."

It was too much for Éowyn. The sky had turned a threatening green, and she heard a wild roaring. She could see a dragon now, a big plume of darkness on the horizon, and it seemed to be coming right towards them. "Éomer!" she screamed. "Stop it, stop it! There's a dragon coming to attack us! Make it go away, Éomer!"

"Éowyn, be quiet," Éomer snapped. "There isn't any dragon. It's just a story."

"There is a dragon," Éowyn insisted. "Look, out there, it's a dragon!"

Just then, the ponies began to whinny and stamp and jump nervously on their picket lines. The children turned to see what was bothering their mounts and stared in open-mouthed horror as an enormous, roiling finger descended from the storm clouds and touched down on the plain. They watched, petrified, as the whirling storm quickly built up strength and moved toward them, faster than they had ever seen a storm move before.

"The dragon's coming to get us!" Éowyn wailed.

"That isn't a dragon," Ceorl said slowly. "That's a tornado!"

"We have to get back to Edoras, now!" Éomer said. "Get the ponies. We'll have to run for it."

The children scrambled to their feet, blanket and picnic baskets forgotten. They struggled with their ponies, which were rearing and plunging in panic now. Éothain managed to pull his pony's picket only to see the terrified beast drag the line from his hands and run away. He looked around wildly for aid, and spotted Ceorl, who had just managed to free his own pony. With a cry of "Me, too!" Éothain climbed on the pony behind Ceorl, and the two boys took off for Edoras. Erkenbrand followed them soon after, as did the other children, one by one. Éowyn hauled as hard as she could at her pony's picket stake, but Éomer had driven it firmly into the ground, and she couldn't put enough weight behind her pull to make a difference.

Éomer noticed his sister's distress and tried to turn his pony around to help her. The pony balked, not wishing to turn back into the face of the oncoming tornado. Finally, Éomer circled the pony around to Éowyn and tried to add his strength to her stubborn picket stake. Éowyn tugged at the stake, and Éomer tugged at the rope, and suddenly the picket burst free. Éowyn sat down hard with the force of it, and both ponies bolted. Éomer, struggling to keep his seat on his runaway pony, watched helplessly as Éowyn was dragged a few feet along the ground before she let go of the picket rope and her pony galloped into the distance.

Éowyn picked herself up and screamed as she saw the two ponies run, carrying her brother away and stranding her out on the open plain with an enormous smoky dragon bearing down on her. The wind buffeted her from all sides now, driving cold rain ahead of it. She could see lightning in the distance, and always, there was the awful roaring of the dragon in her ears. Terrified into action, Éowyn started running towards Edoras, desperate to escape the monster that was closing in on her.

"Ride, my éored, ride!" Háma called to his young charges. "Do not worry about formation! Ride to Edoras!" The tornado had come up suddenly while they were drilling. Háma had seen a similar storm in his younger days. He knew just how swift and deadly they could be and had broken off maneuvers instantly. Now the éored thundered over the plain, each Rider stretched nearly flat over his horse's neck. Háma brought up the rear, trying to ensure that none of his riders became lost in the frenzied flight. Suddenly, Théodred peeled off from the pack.

"Where are you going?" Háma called. "Stay with the group!"

"That's Éowyn out there!" Théodred called back, his words nearly lost in the rushing wind. "I have to get her!"

Sure enough, Háma could just make out a little figure running frantically through the rain and darkness. He had absolutely no idea what the child was doing so far out from Edoras alone, but Éomund's daughter could not be abandoned to the storm's mercy. "Go get her, Théodred!" he called. "But be quick about it, and ride for home!"

Without a word, Théodred broke from the ranks and raced off towards his little cousin.

Éowyn's short six-year-old legs were tiring fast, but still she kept running. The thunder of the dragon was closer now, and she half expected the giant monster to swoop down behind her and gobble her up any instant. The thunder grew abruptly louder, and she shrieked in terror.

"Slow down, Éowyn," she heard. "It is I, Théodred!"

Éowyn slowed and turned around. Sure enough, there was her older cousin on his tall horse Hruth, galloping toward her. "Théodred!" she cried. "Help me, the dragon is going to eat me up!"

Théodred brought Hruth to a stop near Éowyn and dismounted. "Here I am, Éowyn," he said. "No dragon will eat you if I can help it." He scooped Éowyn up and tried to set her on his horse. Éowyn clung to him, trying not to cry, but unable to smother a few whimpers.

"Éowyn," Théodred said with soft urgency, "you must let go for just an instant and mount the horse. I will be right behind you, I promise." Hruth gave a nervous snort, and Éowyn reluctantly allowed herself to be set on his back. Théodred swung up behind her. "Hold on, little one," he said. Éowyn gripped the saddle horn with both hands. Théodred locked one strong arm around her, took up the reins with his free hand, and they were off and running.

Éowyn felt dizzy from the great horse's speed and height. She clung to the saddle horn and screwed her eyes shut so that she wouldn't see the ground. Still, she could feel the pounding of the horse's hoofs, and she could hear Théodred's breath heavy in her ears. And always, there was the roar of the dragon storm behind them. "I want my mama!" she wailed.

"It will not be long before you see her again," Théodred assured her. "You must be brave just a little while longer." Éowyn nodded and tightened her grip on the saddle horn.

Théodred risked a glimpse backward over his shoulder. The tornado was gaining on them, spraying debris high into the air as it charged across the plain. He urged Hruth to even greater speed. The animal was running for home absolutely as fast as his four legs could carry him, and it was all that Théodred could do to keep his arm locked around Éowyn and control the horse one-handed. He bent low over the horse's neck, forcing Éowyn down with him. The noise of the horse's hoofs was now lost in the roar of the storm.

When Théodred looked up, Edoras had come into view. "Look, Éowyn!" he yelled above the howling wind. "There is Edoras! We are nearly home!" Hruth seemed to call up his last reserves of strength and gave an extra burst of speed.

Éowyn unscrewed her eyes. Through the confusion of speed and horse and flying grass, she could just make out the walls and rooftops of Edoras. She concentrated on the city, and managed to catch a glimpse of a mob of horses and ponies at the gates. "What's that?" she yelled.

"That is my éored, and there are children on ponies with them," Théodred answered her. "Your brother and my comrades are safe. It is up to us now."

The whirling storm was nearly on top of them now. Théodred could feel individual blades of grass and small pebbles stinging like whips against his back. A small shrub hurtled by his head and he bent low once again to protect Éowyn.

The blood pounded in Éowyn's ears. She could hardly breathe, squashed between the enormous mass of horse underneath her and Théodred's straining body on top of her. She was trying to be brave, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could stand the terror before she burst into tears. Her nose hit Hruth's neck, and she gulped back a sob. Just then, Théodred sat up. Éowyn could breathe again, and she opened her eyes to find that they had made it to Edoras and were clattering through the streets.

Debris from the town was starting to fly now, and Théodred wasted no time. When he arrived at the house of Éomund, he rode his horse right inside. He dismounted, pulled Éowyn down and looked around for any sign of the family. Seeing a trap door set into the floor, he pounded on it with his fist. "Open the door, Uncle Éomund!" he called. "It is Théodred and Éowyn!"

The trap door opened with a bang, and Éomund's face stared up at him. "Éowyn!" he cried. "Hand her down!"

Théodred carefully lifted Éowyn over the cellar door, where Éomund's strong arms received his daughter and passed her to Théodwyn. Éowyn held her mother tightly, sobbing in relief and fear. Éomund looked back up. "Now you, Théodred," he said.

"But, my horse --"

"Now, brother-son!" Théodwyn snapped. "There is no time! Down in the cellar with you!" The little house started to shake. Théodred swung his legs into the trap door and slithered down into the cellar. Éomund pulled the trap door shut, bolted it, and herded Théodred into the corner with Théodwyn, Éowyn and Éomer. There was just enough time for Éomund to cover his family with his own body before the tornado hit, and the cries of the children were drowned out by the roar of the storm and the shattering of timber and stone.