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I was born in a small town, just east of Helm’s deep. Many settlements sprung up there, and my town was just one of them. I would tell you the name of my home, but I don’t remember it. What I do remember is that my father raised horses, the finest in the land, or so I was told. When I was about eight, a troop of Orcs came from the east and attacked my town. All I remember is the sound of battle, and a great man putting me under the stables and then leaving. It must have been two hours later, when a group of orcs found my hiding place. By the Valar, they searched the hold and threw out all the bundles of straw. One particularly large bundle was wrapped around me, and as I flew through the air, I hit a wall and blacked out. I must have sustained a form of amnesia for I didn’t remember much when I came to. As I awoke, I got up and saw that a blizzard had been roused after the attack. In the bitter cold, I came upon my fathers sword, Thunor, supposedly a descendent from the house of Eorl, and its tattered scabbard. I also discovered a young colt, the only horse left alive, covered in snow and barely breathing. Together, we found shelter in a cave and waited out the storm. I decided to name my only friend Snowstorm, after our terrifying ordeal. I emerged from the cave and saw my home and town in ruins. All I could do was gather what supplies were left, bury my family, and leave with Snowstorm. My ventures brought me to Meduseld where I was raised by my foster family. As I have now come to age, I hope to take my newfound position in Rohan to slay the Orcs that murdered my family and my childhood. |