Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harp string, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
Lament for the Rohirrim (Eorl's Hymn)
The horse is here and I'm the rider. The horn is blowing in the distance. I don't need a helm or a hauberk and I can't play harp by the red fire. I walk alone on the field where the tall corn growing. I have passed like rain too and the years have gone down into shadow.
Now I'm here and my man too. I tried it alone, but I should face the fact I'm bound to him. Fiontann asked me to join him again... I said yes, so let's move on and grab a sword.
