Title: Each Acre Hard Won
Characters: The Rohirrim
Continuing the story of Osred and his family
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien.
The morning was frosty, but smelled of spring to come. Osred pulled on the too-big boots, both physically and metaphorically, and turned his mind to the plough.
Father and Grandfather had spent their last day at home hastily ploughing, before they answered the call to arms... and death. This year there was just Osred.
Greatheart eyed the tack sorrowfully, Osred thought. No Beald to help, though Beauty might; her foal could watch.
By lunch time Osred’s hands and back were sore, with only a quarter acre covered.
“Not straight, perhaps,” came Grandmother’s voice, “but the crop will know no different.”
A/N - I think it likely that many of those who rode to the muster had no specialised warhorses, but horses that were more generic - heavy enough to pull a plough as well as to carry a man to battle.