Upon the wind-swept plains of Rohan™, Théoden weighs the cost of survival: His people must reach safety. The Warg-riders™ are repelled, but not without cost. His already dwindling ranks are further reduced. Time is against them and indecision means death. The king gives his command: “Get the wounded on horses; the wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead.”
Against the will of her kin, she rode to war among them. She was a proud shieldmaiden of Rohan; she would not be denied her choice to fight. And fight she did. For when the dreaded Witch-king struck down her uncle, the king, he cast his malice upon her: another life to be claimed by his hand. Her shield shattered by the enemy's assault, her arm injured, and the odds against her, Éowyn cast her fear aside. She drew upon all her courage and stood before him unyielding, to oppose that most fell and ancient foe.
Far from his familiar halls of stone, among companions newly bound by peril and by oath, Gimli now hastened across the vast plains of Rohan. The Fellowship was sundered, its purpose scattered, and the fate of two young hobbits now lay in orcish hands. Grief and wrath were kindled together, and a grim resolve lay heavy upon his brow. The hour had come for pursuit; for the hunt, unrelenting, until reckoning was made.
Legolas raised his eyes and searched the plains before them, keen and far-seeing; while the Ranger stooped to the ground and studied the marks close at hand, the Elf looked beyond, striving to pierce the leagues that still lay between them and their quarry. For many days they had hunted without pause, yet still the trail ran on, and with each hour the peril of the captive hobbits grew heavier upon their hearts. But Legolas did not falter; swift and tireless, he pressed on.
