Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit

           Forthefewhoursofdaylightthatwerelefttheyrested,shiftingintotheshadeasthesunmoved,untilatlasttheshadowofthewesternrimoftheirdellgrewlong,anddarknessfilledallthehollow.Thentheyatealittle,anddranksparingly.Gollumatenothing,butheacceptedwatergladly.

           `Soongetmorenow,’hesaid,lickinghislips.`GoodwaterrunsdowninstreamstotheGreatRiver,nicewaterinthelandswearegoingto.Sméagolwillgetfoodtheretoo,perhaps.He’sveryhungry,yes,gollum!’Hesethistwolargeflathandsonhisshrunkenbelly,andapalegreenlightcameintohiseyes.

           Theduskwasdeepwhenatlengththeysetout,creepingoverthewestwardrimofthedell,andfadinglikeghostsintothebrokencountryonthebordersoftheroad:Themoonwasnowthreenightsfromthefull,butitdidnotclimboverthemountainsuntilnearlymidnight,andtheearlynightwasverydark.AsingleredlightburnedhighupintheTowersoftheTeeth,butotherwisenosigncouldbeseenorheardofthesleeplesswatchontheMorannon.

           Formanymilestheredeyeseemedtostareatthemastheyfled,stumblingthroughabarrenstonycountry.Theydidnotdaretotaketheroad,buttheykeptitontheirleft,followingitslineaswellastheycouldatalittledistance.Atlast,whennightwasgrowingoldandtheywerealreadyweary,fortheyhadtakenonlyoneshortrest,theeyedwindledtoasmallfierypointandthenvanished:theyhadturnedthedarknorthernshoulderofthelowermountainsandwereheadingsouthwards.