2995 Third Age
"Daaaaaaddyyyyy! They’re after meeeeee!"
"Shhhhhh, Éomer, 'tis but a dream."
I burrow into Daddy's strong arms, sniffling, and beg a story. He laughs.
"Long ago, a little boy was chased by great ugly demons. He cried, 'Help!'... and do you know what happened then?"
Daddy's deep voice rumbles against my cheek. Too contented to speak, I shake my head.
"Two mysterious Grey Ghostriders came galloping across the grasslands to defend him, and scared the demons away! Then they carried him home — but before he could thank them, they vanished, faster than you can blink!"
But I cannot blink... eyes heavy....
Éomund climbs into bed, embracing my bulk with gentle arms, bellied against my back.
"Aye... at last! He wanted a story; I told him of the Grey Ghostriders."
"You know," I tease, "my father told me it was a little girl they rescued...."
"That is not how the bards sing it! 'Tis most unseemly!"
I chuckle at his mock-disapproval. "Today... the midwife said the baby rides low...." He props himself on his elbow, puzzled.
"So... 'tis very likely a girl." I cover my ears, grinning at his most unseemly whoop.
A plaintive voice floats through the doorway: "Daaaaaddddyyyyy!"