Властелин колец: Братство кольца
Flight to the Ford
Helaytossingandturningandlisteningfearfullytothestealthynight-noises:windinchinksofrock,waterdripping,acrack,thesuddenrattlingfallofaloosenedstone.Hefeltthatblackshapeswereadvancingtosmotherhim;butwhenhesatuphesawnothingbutthebackofStridersittinghunchedup,smokinghispipe,andwatching.Helaydownagainandpassedintoanuneasydream,inwhichhewalkedonthegrassinhisgardeninthe
Shire,butitseemedfaintanddim,lessclearthanthetallblackshadowsthatstoodlookingoverthehedge.
Inthemorninghewoketofindthattherainhadstopped.Thecloudswerestillthick,buttheywerebreaking,andpalestripsofblueappearedbetweenthem.Thewindwasshiftingagain.Theydidnotstartearly.ImmediatelyaftertheircoldandcomfortlessbreakfastStriderwentoffalone,tellingtheotherstoremainundertheshelterofthecliff,untilhecameback.Hewasgoingtoclimbup,ifhecould,andgetalookatthelieoftheland.
Whenhereturnedhewasnotreassuring.‘Wehavecometoofartothenorth,’hesaid,‘andwemustfindsomewaytoturnbacksouthwardsagain.IfwekeeponaswearegoingweshallgetupintotheEttendalesfarnorthofRivendell.Thatistroll-country,andlittleknowntome.WecouldperhapsfindourwaythroughandcomeroundtoRivendellfromthenorth;butitwouldtaketoolong,forIdonotknowtheway,andourfoodwouldnotlast.SosomehoworotherwemustfindtheFordofBruinen.’
Therestofthatdaytheyspentscramblingoverrockyground.
