They're not black . . . not realy. Them robes they wear are faded and dirty. Maybe they was black once, but they're not now. But mayhap it's not the clothes as makes 'em black? It's what's inside 'em.
And what's inside my master now . . . that's black. They put it there and no matter how much we wash out the wound it don't seem to go. I'm not thinkin' of the gore, neither. Its somethin' else. He ain't no Black Rider, but I can see the shadow growin in 'im.
We've got to get to the elves soon. Hold on, Sir. Hold on.