Source: LOTR book verse
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Tolkien. I make no money from this.
Dawn only reveals itself as a band of murky violet pushing against the black-stained sky.
The Dead billow after them like mist, like the touch of cold air from long closed off rooms.
Fleeting shapes appear and vanish: heads, hands, horses...a tide of moving impermanence.
Aragorn is exhausted; for a moment his mind seems to diffuse into the shadow host behind.
He bites the back of his hand hard to anchor himself in the living world: the horse under him, blood stains on his dirty hand...
His army of spectres is here to transcend the shadows, and so is he.