His body had been twisted since birth, so that he would never sit a horse, and he would wield nothing but a hammer.

Countless times he had watched them ride from the city, carrying the weapons he and his brethren had forged for them. Once, he wished that he might join them, that he might fulfil his own oath to Gondor.

But now he watched them depart, and he knew they were too few. He could not ride, but he could fight-- and he, like them, could die.

But that was all there was left: there was no victory coming.

back | e-mail