fair stables where a few swift horses were kept, hard by the lodgings
of the errand-riders of the Lord: messengers always ready to go at the
urgent command of Denethor or his chief captains. But now all the
horses and the riders were out and away.
     Shadowfax whinnied as Pippin entered the stable and turned his head.
‘Good morning!’ said Pippin. ‘Gandalf will come as soon as he may. He
is busy, but he sends greetings, and I am to see that all is well with
you; and you resting, I hope, after your long labours.’
     Shadowfax tossed his head and stamped. But he allowed Beregond to
handle his head gently and stroke his great flanks.
     ‘He looks as if he were spoiling for a race, and not newly come from a
great journey,’ said Beregond. ‘How strong and proud he is! Where is
his harness? It should be rich and fair.’
     ‘None is rich and fair enough for him,’ said Pippin. ‘He will have
none. If he will consent to bear you, bear you he does; and if not,
well, no bit, bridle, whip, or thong will tame him. Farewell,
Shadowfax! Have patience. Battle is coming.’
     Shadowfax lifted up his head and neighed, so that the stable shook,
and they covered their ears. Then they took their leave, seeing that
the manger was well filled.