“After years of torment and slavery, they can scarcely bear to be touched by the healers.” The young king of Rohan bowed his head.
Radagast nodded wisely; then he sat cross-legged on the ground. The horses listened quietly as he told them tales of their sires, for he had lived in Rhovanion when Eorl rode from the North. At night he slept close by, wrapped in his tattered brown cloak.
After a week, a stallion sidled over and began to nuzzle his beard.
“You are great hearted,” Radagast murmured, stroking the hollow flanks, “As brave as the horses of Eorl.”
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