"Still she did not blench:
maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but as
a steel-blade, fair yet terrible. A swift stroke she dealt,
skilled but deadly. The outstretched neck she clove asunder,
and the hewn head fell like a stone. Backwards she sprang
as the huge shape crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread,
crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed
away. A light fell about her, and her hair shone in the
sunrise."
