Властелин колец: Две башни
The Road to Isengard
Theyrodenowataneasypaceanddarkcamedownupontheplainsaboutthem.Theslowmoonmounted,nowwaxingtowardsthefull,andinitscoldsilverlighttheswellinggrass-landsroseandfelllikeawidegreysea.TheyhadriddenforsomefourhoursfromthebranchingoftheroadswhentheydrewneartotheFords.Longslopesranswiftlydowntowheretheriverspreadinstonyshoalsbetweenhighgrassyterraces.Borneuponthewindtheyheardthehowlingofwolves.Theirheartswereheavy,rememberingthemanymenthathadfalleninbattleinthisplace.
Theroaddippedbetweenrisingturf-banks,carvingitswaythroughtheterracestotheriver’sedge,andupagainuponthefurtherside.Therewerethreelinesofflatstepping-stonesacrossthestream,andbetweenthemfordsforhorses,thatwentfromeitherbrinktoabareeyotinthemidst.Theriderslookeddownuponthecrossings,anditseemedstrangetothem;fortheFordshadeverbeenaplacefulloftherushandchatterofwateruponstones;butnowtheyweresilent.Thebedsofthestreamwerealmostdry,abarewasteofshinglesandgreysand.
’Thisisbecomeadrearyplace,’saidÉomer.’Whatsicknesshasbefallentheriver?ManyfairthingsSarumanhasdestroyed:hashedevouredthespringsofIsentoo?’’Soitwouldseem,’saidGandalf.
’Alas!’saidThéoden.’Mustwepassthisway,wherethecarrion-beastsdevoursomanygoodRidersoftheMark?’
’Thisisourway,’saidGandalf.
