Властелин колец: Две башни
Journey to the Cross-roads
Forthemostpartitwascoveredwithathickgrowthofgorseandwhortleberry,andlowtoughthorns,thoughhereandthereclearingsopened,thescarsofrecentfires.Thegorse-bushesbecamemorefrequentastheygotnearerthetop;veryoldandtalltheywere,gauntandleggybelowbutthickabove,andalreadyputtingoutyellowflowersthatglimmeredinthegloomandgaveafaintsweetscent.Sotallwerethespinythicketsthatthehobbitscouldwalkuprightunderthem,passingthroughlongdryaislescarpetedwithadeeppricklymould.
Onthefurtheredgeofthisbroadhill-backtheystayedtheirmarchandcrawledforhidingunderneathatangledknotofthorns.Theirtwistedboughs,stoopingtotheground,wereoverriddenbyaclamberingmazeofoldbriars.Deepinsidetherewasahollowhall,rafteredwithdeadbranchandbramble,androofedwiththefirstleavesandshootsofspring.Theretheylayforawhile,tootiredyettoeat;andpeeringoutthroughtheholesinthecoverttheywatchedfortheslowgrowthofday.
Butnodaycame,onlyadeadbrowntwilight.IntheEasttherewasadullredglareundertheloweringcloud:itwasnottheredofdawn.Acrossthetumbledlandsbetween,themountainsoftheEphelDúathfrownedatthem,blackandshapelessbelowwherenightlaythickanddidnotpassaway,abovewithjaggedtopsandedgesoutlinedhardandmenacingagainstthefieryglow.Awaytotheirrightagreatshoulderofthemountainsstoodout,darkandblackamidtheshadows,thrustingwestward.
`Whichwaydowegofromhere?’askedFrodo.
