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“I heard one of Father’s guards say so,” Boromir insists, staring up at the great torrent of water flowing from high above; though the bank sits too far away for it to be true, Faramir fancies he feels the spray hitting him, for the waterfall looms large, its roar filling his ears, and he is still very small, to his disappointment.
“Surely not,” he says, dubious, even though Boromir does not tell tales, Boromir who is so much older and larger and thus surely wiser; watching Boromir squint against the imagined spray, he adds, “It stands higher even than the tower of Ecthalion - nothing could come down it and survive intact!”
“Well, the man going over the falls would have to be in the stoutest of barrels, you see,” Boromir says, and ruffles his little brother’s hair, and laughs; so Faramir returns home satisfied (decades later, he will stand in the same spot on the bank in dreams, remembering happier days, and see his brother for the last time, and know that Boromir told him no lies).