Make a wish, Harry.
A simple thank you would suffice.
I didn’t ask for your help.
I’ve decided I want to be cremated. Not when I die, just whenever. Surprise me.
Still some miles away, on the far side of the Westfold Vale, lay a green coomb, a great bay in the mountains, out of which a gorge opened in the hills. Men of that land called it Helm’s Deep, after a hero of old wars who had made his refuge there. Ever steeper and narrower it wound inward from the north under the shadow of the Thrihyrne, till the crow-haunted cliffs rose like mighty towers on either side, shutting out the light.