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- Джон Толкин
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There
they
had
a
supper
,
or
a
dinner
,
such
as
they
had
not
had
since
they
left
the
Last
Homely
House
in
the
West
and
said
good-bye
to
Elrond
.
The
light
of
the
torches
and
the
fire
flickered
about
them
,
and
on
the
table
were
two
tall
red
beeswax
candles
.
All
the
time
they
ate
,
Beorn
in
his
deep
rolling
voice
told
tales
of
the
wild
lands
on
this
side
of
the
mountains
,
and
especially
of
the
dark
and
dangerous
wood
,
that
lay
outstretched
far
to
North
and
South
a
day
's
ride
before
them
,
barring
their
way
to
the
East
,
the
terrible
forest
of
Mirkwood
.
The
dwarves
listened
and
shook
their
beards
,
for
they
knew
that
they
must
soon
venture
into
that
forest
and
that
after
the
mountains
it
was
the
worst
of
the
perils
they
had
to
pass
before
they
came
to
the
dragon
's
stronghold
.
When
dinner
was
over
they
began
to
tell
tales
of
their
own
,
but
Beorn
seemed
to
be
growing
drowsy
and
paid
little
heed
to
them
.
They
spoke
most
of
gold
and
silver
and
jewels
and
the
making
of
things
by
smith-craft
,
and
Beorn
did
not
appear
to
care
for
such
things
:
there
were
no
things
of
gold
or
silver
in
his
hall
,
and
few
save
the
knives
were
made
of
metal
at
all
.
They
sat
long
at
the
table
with
their
wooden
drinking-bowls
filled
with
mead
.
The
dark
night
came
on
outside
.
The
fires
in
the
middle
of
the
hall
were
built
with
fresh
logs
and
the
torches
were
put
out
,
and
still
they
sat
in
the
light
of
the
dancing
flames
with
the
pillars
of
the
house
standing
tall
behind
them
,
arid
dark
at
the
top
like
trees
of
the
forest
.
Whether
it
was
magic
or
not
,
it
seemed
to
Bilbo
that
he
heard
a
sound
like
wind
in
the
branches
stirring
in
the
rafters
,
and
the
hoot
of
owls
.
Soon
he
began
to
nod
with
sleep
and
the
voices
seemed
to
grow
far
away
,
until
he
woke
with
a
start
.
The
great
door
had
creaked
and
slammed
.
Beorn
was
gone
.
The
dwarves
were
sitting
cross-legged
on
the
floor
round
the
fire
,
and
presently
they
began
to
sing
.
Some
of
the
verses
were
like
this
,
but
there
were
many
more
,
and
their
singing
went
on
for
a
long
while
:
"
The
wind
was
on
the
withered
heath
,
but
in
the
forest
stirred
no
leaf
:
there
shadows
lay
by
night
and
day
,
and
dark
things
silent
crept
beneath
.
The
wind
came
down
from
mountains
cold
,
and
like
a
tide
it
roared
and
rolled
;
the
branches
groaned
,
the
forest
moaned
,
and
leaves
were
laid
upon
the
mould
.
