Disclaimer: Tolkien discovered Middle-earth, and all who dwell therein are his.
Faramir remembered what Boromir had told him about the horses of the Rohirrim, how the Riders would drive the wild herds down narrowing valleys so they might choose those to take for riding, for carting… How riding with them made the blood sing, the body thrum with excitement… until you too became one with the roar. How the earth quaked under the mass of pounding hooves, and the air echoed thunder as they passed, and the wild cries of the Riders resounded and rebounded from the surrounding hills, and you also cried out, whooping with the fierce joy of living…
In the Houses of Healing, Faramir could not see the Rohirrim’s Charge, nor witness their fell faces as they rode in wrath… to ruin or victory, to a glorious death and a place in the Hallowed Halls… but he could feel them.
So great the numbers of punishing hoof-beats, so wild the feral screams of man and beast, that even though he wandered in darkness, his body knew their passing. A hurricane of sound and motion whirled, he quailed before the storm, but… he thought he heard his brother, his fierce laughter… so distant…
Then Faramir remembered… hope would come.