towers

the riders of rohan 555
on the ground in sleep, and they troubled my dreams: horses
galloping, passing in the West. But now they are drawing
ever further from us, riding northward. I wonder what is
happening in this land!’
‘Let us go!’ said Legolas.
So the third day of their pursuit began. During all its long
hours of cloud and fitful sun they hardly paused, now striding,
now running, as if no weariness could quench the fire
that burned them. They seldom spoke. Over the wide solitude
they passed and their elven-cloaks faded against the background
of the grey-green fields; even in the cool sunlight of
mid-day few but Elvish eyes would have marked them, until
they were close at hand. Often in their hearts they thanked
the Lady of Lórien for the gift of lembas, for they could eat
of it and find new strength even as they ran.
All day the track of their enemies led straight on, going
north-west without a break or turn. As once again the day
wore to its end they came to long treeless slopes, where the
land rose, swelling up towards a line of low humpbacked
downs ahead. The orc-trail grew fainter as it bent north
towards them, for the ground became harder and the grass
shorter. Far away to the left the river Entwash wound, a silver
thread in a green floor. No moving thing could be seen. Often
Aragorn wondered that they saw no sign of beast or man.
The dwellings of the Rohirrim were for the most part many
leagues away to the South, under the wooded eaves of the
White Mountains, now hidden in mist and cloud; yet the
Horse-lords had formerly kept many herds and studs in
the Eastemnet, this easterly region of their realm, and there
the herdsmen had wandered much, living in camp and tent,
even in winter-time. But now all the land was empty, and
there was a silence that did not seem to be the quiet of peace.
At dusk they halted again. Now twice twelve leagues they
had passed over the plains of Rohan and the wall of the Emyn
Muil was lost in the shadows of the East. The young moon