Властелин колец: Братство кольца
Flight to the Ford
Asquicklyastheycouldtheyscrambledoffthebeatenwayandupintothedeepheatherandbilberrybrushwoodontheslopesabove,untiltheycametoasmallpatchofthick-growinghazels.Astheypeeredoutfromamongthebushes,theycouldseetheRoad,faintandgreyinthefailinglight,somethirtyfeetbelowthem.Thesoundofhoofsdrewnearer.Theyweregoingfast,withalightclippety-clippety-clip.Thenfaintly,asifitwasblownawayfromthembythebreeze,theyseemedtocatchadimringing,asofsmallbellstinkling.
‘ThatdoesnotsoundlikeaBlackRider’shorse!’saidFrodo,listeningintently.Theotherhobbitsagreedhopefullythatitdidnot,buttheyallremainedfullofsuspicion.Theyhadbeeninfearofpursuitforsolongthatanysoundfrombehindseemedominousandunfriendly.ButStriderwasnowleaningforward,stoopedtotheground,withahandtohisear,andalookofjoyonhisface.
Thelightfaded,andtheleavesonthebushesrustledsoftly.Clearerandnearernowthebellsjingled,andclippety-clipcamethequicktrottingfeet.Suddenlyintoviewbelowcameawhitehorse,gleamingintheshadows,runningswiftly.Intheduskitsheadstallflickeredandflashed,asifitwerestuddedwithgemslikelivingstars.Therider’scloakstreamedbehindhim,andhishoodwasthrownback;hisgoldenhairflowedshimmeringinthewindofhisspeed.ToFrodoitappearedthatawhitelightwasshiningthroughtheformandraimentoftherider,asifthroughathinveil.
