( This story follows Wanderings: Imladris to the Shire. Part Two. )
We urged the horses forward at a walk. The fog was cloying, as if seeking to stifle our breath. A thick cloak of dread thrown over us. I noted that Gilastor trod warily. He was most unhappy. Pelorian had been in similar places before, but she was shaking her head and huffing in frustration.
