Half-drowned, bleeding, weeping as the wild water claimed his terrified, screaming horse, Boromir crawled onto the bank of the angry river.
He had lost horse, saddlebags and sword. He had now only the clothes on his back, his shield and, most precious, the great Horn of Gondor. What madness sent me on this mindless quest? Father was rightour despair compels us to chase moonbeams.
Then he remembered his brothers hopeful face as he spoke of the voice of the dream and the far light in the West. Whatever awaits me in the North, I will find it. For Gondor!