"I should think so, if he has to." He may not be tall for one of his kin, certainly not for one of the Noldor, but his head is still higher than that of the sturdy horse.
And duck under the presumed piece of rock (a strange smell clings to it, though he cannot place it at all) he will, letting go of the horse and leading it with a simple word, a soft touch against its fëa, the reins quickly undone before it trots past Luke.
He pushes back the hood once he is under the rock, revealing fine, even features of an almost ethereal beauty, pointed ears and long, dark hair, golden beads braided into his plaits. "Thank you for the shelter, stranger. Though a stranger I will not call you, if you should give me your name. Mine is Fingon."
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And duck under the presumed piece of rock (a strange smell clings to it, though he cannot place it at all) he will, letting go of the horse and leading it with a simple word, a soft touch against its fëa, the reins quickly undone before it trots past Luke.
He pushes back the hood once he is under the rock, revealing fine, even features of an almost ethereal beauty, pointed ears and long, dark hair, golden beads braided into his plaits. "Thank you for the shelter, stranger. Though a stranger I will not call you, if you should give me your name. Mine is Fingon."