Хоббит
On the Doorstep
Therewasnolaughterorsongorsoundofharps,andtheprideandhopeswhichhadstirredintheirheartsatthesingingofoldsongsbythelakediedawaytoaploddinggloom.Theyknewthattheyweredrawingneartotheendoftheirjourney,andthatitmightbeaveryhorribleend.Thelandaboutthemgrewbleakandbarren,thoughonce,asThorintoldthem,ithadbeengreenandfair.Therewaslittlegrass,andbeforelongtherewasneitherbushnortree,andonlybrokenandblackenedstumpstospeakofoneslongvanished.TheywerecometotheDesolationoftheDragon,andtheywerecomeatthewaningoftheyear.
TheyreachedtheskirtsoftheMountainallthesamewithoutmeetinganydangeroranysignoftheDragonotherthanthewildernesshehadmadeabouthislair.TheMountainlaydarkandsilentbeforethemandeverhigherabovethem.Theymadetheirfirstcamponthewesternsideofthegreatsouthernspur,whichendedinaheightcalledRavenhill.Onthistherehadbeenanoldwatch-post;buttheydarednotclimbityet,itwastooexposed.BeforesettingouttosearchthewesternspursoftheMountainforthehiddendoor,onwhichalltheirhopesrested,ThorinsentoutascoutingexpeditiontospyoutthelandtotheSouthwheretheFrontGatestood.ForthispurposehechoseBalinandFiliandKili,andwiththemwentBilbo.TheymarchedunderthegreyandsilentcliffstothefeetofRavenhill.Theretheriver,afterwindingawideloopoverthevalleyofDale,turnedfromtheMountainonitsroadtotheLake,flowingswiftandnoisily.
