On the Doorstep

           IntwodaysgoingtheyrowedrightuptheLongLakeandpassedoutintotheRiverRunning,andnowtheycouldallseetheLonelyMountaintoweringgrimandtallbeforethem.Thestreamwasstrongandtheirgoingslow.Atthe;endofthethirdday,somemilesuptheriver,theydrewintotheleftorwesternbankanddisembarked.Heretheywerejoinedbythehorseswithotherprovisionsandnecessariesandtheponiesfortheirownusethathadbeensenttomeetthem.Theypackedwhattheycouldontheponiesandtherestwasmadeintoastoreunderatent,butnoneofthemenofthetownwouldstaywiththemevenforthenightsoneartheshadowoftheMountain."Notatanyrateuntilthesongshavecometrue!"saidthey.ItwaseasiertobelieveintheDragonandlesseasytobelieveinThorininthesewildparts.Indeedtheirstoreshadnoneedofanyguard,forallthelandwasdesolateandempty.Sotheirescortleftthem,makingoffswiftlydowntheriverandtheshorewardpaths,althoughthenightwasalreadydrawingon.Theyspentacoldandlonelynightandtheirspiritsfell.Thenextdaytheysetoutagain.BalinandBilborodebehind,eachleadinganotherponyheavilyladenbesidehim;theothersweresomewayaheadpickingoutaslowroad,fortherewerenopaths.Theymadenorth-west,slantingawayfromtheRiverRunning,anddrawingevernearerandnearertoagreatspuroftheMountainthatwasflungoutsouthwardstowardsthem.

           Itwasawearyjourney,andaquietandstealthyone.