Властелин колец: Две башни
The Passage of the Marshes
Atlast,onthefifthmorningsincetheytooktheroadwithGollum,theyhaltedoncemore.Beforethemdarkinthedawnthegreatmountainsreacheduptoroofsofsmokeandcloud.Outfromtheirfeetwereflunghugebuttressesandbrokenhillsthatwerenowatthenearestscarceadozenmilesaway.Frodolookedroundinhorror.DreadfulastheDeadMarsheshadbeen,andthearidmoorsoftheNoman-lands,moreloathsomefarwasthecountrythatthecrawlingdaynowslowlyunveiledtohisshrinkingeyes.EventotheMereofDeadFacessomehaggardphantomofgreenspringwouldcome;buthereneitherspringnorsummerwouldevercomeagain.Herenothinglived,noteventheleprousgrowthsthatfeedonrottenness.Thegaspingpoolswerechokedwithashandcrawlingmuds,sicklywhiteandgrey,asifthemountainshadvomitedthefilthoftheirentrailsuponthelandsabout.Highmoundsofcrushedandpowderedrock,greatconesofearthfire-blastedandpoison-stained,stoodlikeanobscenegraveyardinendlessrows,slowlyrevealedinthereluctantlight.
TheyhadcometothedesolationthatlaybeforeMordor:thelastingmonumenttothedarklabourofitsslavesthatshouldendurewhenalltheirpurposesweremadevoid;alanddefiled,diseasedbeyondallhealing-unlesstheGreatSeashouldenterinandwashitwithoblivion.`Ifeelsick,’saidSam.Frododidnotspeak.
Forawhiletheystoodthere,likemenontheedgeofasleepwherenightmarelurks,holdingitoff,thoughtheyknowthattheycanonlycometomorningthroughtheshadows.
