Властелин колец: Братство кольца
Flight to the Ford
Dawnwasgrowinginthesky,andthedellwasfillingwithgreylight,whenStrideratlastreturned.
‘Look!’hecried;andstoopingheliftedfromthegroundablackcloakthathadlaintherehiddenbythedarkness.Afootabovethelowerhemtherewasaslash.‘ThiswasthestrokeofFrodo’ssword,’hesaid.‘Theonlyhurtthatitdidtohisenemy,Ifear;foritisunharmed,butallbladesperishthatpiercethatdreadfulKing.MoredeadlytohimwasthenameofElbereth.’
‘AndmoredeadlytoFrodowasthis!’Hestoopedagainandliftedupalongthinknife.Therewasacoldgleaminit.AsStriderraisedittheysawthatneartheenditsedgewasnotchedandthepointwasbrokenoff.Butevenashehelditupinthegrowinglight,theygazedinastonishment,forthebladeseemedtomelt,andvanishedlikeasmokeintheair,leavingonlythehiltinStrider’shand.‘Alas!’hecried.‘Itwasthisaccursedknifethatgavethewound.Fewnowhavetheskillinhealingtomatchsuchevilweapons.ButIwilldowhatIcan.’
Hesatdownontheground,andtakingthedagger-hiltlaiditonhisknees,andhesangoveritaslowsonginastrangetongue.Thensettingitaside,heturnedtoFrodoandinasofttonespokewordstheotherscouldnotcatch.Fromthepouchathisbelthedrewoutthelongleavesofaplant.
‘Theseleaves,’hesaid,‘Ihavewalkedfartofind;forthisplantdoesnotgrowinthebarehills;butinthethicketsawaysouthoftheRoadIfounditinthedarkbythescentofitsleaves.’
