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"
There
is
,
if
you
care
to
go
two
hundred
miles
or
so
out
of
your
way
north
,
and
twice
that
south
.
But
you
would
n't
get
a
safe
path
even
then
.
There
are
no
safe
paths
in
this
part
of
the
world
.
Remember
you
are
over
the
Edge
of
the
Wild
now
,
and
in
for
all
sorts
of
fun
wherever
you
go
.
Before
you
could
get
round
Mirkwood
in
the
North
you
would
be
right
among
the
slopes
of
the
Grey
Mountains
,
and
they
are
simply
stiff
with
goblins
,
hobgoblins
,
and
rest
of
the
worst
description
.
Before
you
could
get
round
it
in
the
South
,
you
would
get
into
the
land
of
the
Necromancer
;
and
even
you
.
Bilbo
,
wo
n't
need
me
to
tell
you
tales
of
that
black
sorcerer
.
I
do
n't
advise
you
to
go
anywhere
near
the
places
overlooked
by
his
dark
tower
!
Stick
to
the
forest-track
,
keep
your
spirits
up
,
hope
for
the
best
,
and
with
a
tremendous
slice
of
luck
you
may
come
out
one
day
and
see
the
Long
Marshes
lying
below
you
,
and
beyond
them
,
high
in
the
East
,
the
Lonely
Mountain
where
dear
old
Smaug
lives
,
though
I
hope
he
is
not
expecting
you
.
"
"
Very
comforting
you
are
to
be
sure
,
"
growled
Thorin
.
"
Good-bye
!
If
you
wo
n't
come
with
us
,
you
had
better
get
off
without
any
more
talk
!
"
"
Good-bye
then
,
and
really
good-bye
!
"
said
Gandalf
,
and
he
turned
his
horse
and
rode
down
into
the
West
.
But
he
could
not
resist
the
temptation
to
have
the
last
word
.
Before
he
had
passed
quite
out
of
hearing
he
turned
and
put
his
hands
to
his
mouth
and
called
to
them
.
They
heard
his
voice
come
faintly
:
"
Good-bye
!
Be
good
,
take
care
of
yourselves-and
DO
N'T
LEAVE
THE
PATH
!
"
Then
he
galloped
away
and
was
soon
lost
to
sight
.
"
O
good-bye
and
go
away
!
"
grunted
the
dwarves
,
all
the
more
angry
because
they
were
really
filled
with
dismay
at
losing
him
.
Now
began
the
most
dangerous
part
of
all
the
journey
.
They
each
shouldered
the
heavy
pack
and
the
water-skin
which
was
their
share
,
and
turned
from
the
light
that
lay
on
the
lands
outside
and
plunged
into
the
forest
.
They
walked
in
single
file
.
The
entrance
to
the
path
was
like
a
sort
of
arch
leading
into
a
gloomy
tunnel
made
by
two
great
trees
that
leant
together
,
too
old
and
strangled
with
ivy
and
hung
with
lichen
to
bear
more
than
a
few
blackened
leaves
.
The
path
itself
was
narrow
and
wound
in
and
out
among
the
trunks
.
Soon
the
light
at
the
gate
was
like
a
little
bright
hole
far
behind
,
and
the
quiet
was
so
deep
that
their
feet
seemed
to
thump
along
while
all
the
trees
leaned
over
them
and
listened
.
As
theft
eyes
became
used
to
the
dimness
they
could
see
a
little
way
to
either
side
in
a
sort
of
darkened
green
glimmer
.
Occasionally
a
slender
beam
of
sun
that
had
the
luck
to
slip
in
through
some
opening
in
the
leaves
far
above
,
and
still
more
luck
in
not
being
caught
in
the
tangled
boughs
and
matted
twigs
beneath
,
stabbed
down
thin
and
bright
before
them
.
But
this
was
seldom
,
and
it
soon
ceased
altogether
.
There
were
black
squirrels
in
the
wood
.
As
Bilbo
's
sharp
inquisitive
eyes
got
used
to
seeing
things
he
could
catch
glimpses
of
them
whisking
off
the
path
and
scuttling
behind
tree-trunks
.
There
were
queer
noises
too
,
grunts
,
scufflings
,
and
hurryings
in
the
undergrowth
,
and
among
the
leaves
that
lay
piled
endlessly
thick
in
places
on
the
forest-floor
;
but
what
made
the
noises
he
could
not
see
.
The
nastiest
things
they
saw
were
the
cobwebs
:
dark
dense
cobwebs
with
threads
extraordinarily
thick
,
often
stretched
from
tree
to
tree
,
or
tangled
in
the
lower
branches
on
either
side
of
them
.
There
were
none
stretched
across
the
path
,
but
whether
because
some
magic
kept
it
clear
,
or
for
what
other
reason
they
could
not
guess
.
It
was
not
long
before
they
grew
to
hate
the
forest
as
heartily
as
they
had
hated
the
tunnels
of
the
goblins
,
and
it
seemed
to
offer
even
less
hope
of
any
ending
.
But
they
had
to
go
on
and
on
,
long
after
they
were
sick
for
a
sight
of
the
sun
and
of
the
sky
,
and
longed
for
the
feel
of
wind
on
their
faces
.
There
was
no
movement
of
air
down
under
the
forest-roof
,
and
it
was
everlastingly
still
and
dark
and
stuffy
.
Even
the
dwarves
felt
it
,
who
were
used
to
tunnelling
,
and
lived
at
times
for
long
whiles
without
the
light
of
the
sun
;
but
the
hobbit
,
who
liked
holes
to
make
a
house
in
but
not
to
spend
summer
days
in
,
felt
he
was
being
slowly
suffocated
.
The
nights
were
the
worst
.
It
then
became
pitch-dark
-
not
what
you
call
pitch-dark
,
but
really
pitch
;
so
black
that
you
really
could
see
nothing
.
Bilbo
tried
flapping
his
hand
in
front
of
his
nose
,
but
he
could
not
see
it
at
all
.
Well
,
perhaps
it
is
not
true
to
say
that
they
could
see
nothing
:
they
could
see
eyes
.
They
slept
all
closely
huddled
together
,
and
took
it
in
turns
to
watch
;
and
when
it
was
Bilbo
's
turn
he
would
see
gleams
in
the
darkness
round
them
,
and
sometimes
pairs
of
yellow
or
red
or
green
eyes
would
stare
at
him
from
a
little
distance
,
and
then
slowly
fade
and
disappear
and
slowly
shine
out
again
in
another
place
.
And
sometimes
they
would
gleam
down
from
the
branches
just
above
him
;
and
that
was
most
terrifying
.
But
the
eyes
that
he
liked
the
least
were
horrible
pale
bulbous
sort
of
eyes
.
"
Insect
eyes
"
he
thought
,
"
not
animal
eyes
,
only
they
are
much
too
big
.
"
Although
it
was
not
yet
very
cold
,
they
tried
lighting
watch-fires
at
night
,
but
they
soon
gave
that
up
.
It
seemed
to
bring
hundreds
and
hundreds
of
eyes
all
round
them
,
though
the
creatures
,
whatever
they
were
,
were
careful
never
to
let
their
bodies
show
in
the
little
flicker
of
the
flames
.
Worse
still
it
brought
thousands
of
dark-grey
and
black
moths
,
some
nearly
as
big
as
your
hand
,
flapping
and
whirring
round
their
ears
.
They
could
not
stand
that
,
nor
the
huge
bats
,
black
as
a
top-hat
,
either
;
so
they
gave
up
fires
and
sat
at
night
and
dozed
in
the
enormous
uncanny
darkness
.
All
this
went
on
for
what
seemed
to
the
hobbit
ages
upon
ages
;
and
he
was
always
hungry
,
for
they
were
extremely
careful
with
their
provisions
.
Even
so
,
as
days
followed
days
,
and
still
the
forest
seemed
just
the
same
,
they
began
to
get
anxious
.
The
food
would
not
last
for
ever
:
it
was
in
fact
already
beginning
to
get
low
.
They
tried
shooting
at
the
squirrels
,
and
they
wasted
many
arrows
before
they
managed
to
bring
one
down
on
the
path
.
But
when
they
roasted
it
,
it
proved
horrible
to
taste
,
and
they
shot
no
more
squirrels
.
They
were
thirsty
too
,
for
they
had
none
too
much
water
,
and
in
all
the
time
they
had
seen
neither
spring
nor
stream
.
This
was
their
state
when
one
day
they
found
their
path
blocked
by
a
running
water
.
It
flowed
fast
and
strong
but
not
very
wide
right
across
the
way
,
and
it
was
black
,
or
looked
it
in
the
gloom
.
It
was
well
that
Beorn
had
warned
them
against
it
,
or
they
would
have
drunk
from
it
,
whatever
its
colour
,
and
filled
some
of
their
emptied
skins
at
its
bank
.
As
it
was
they
only
thought
of
how
to
cross
it
without
wetting
themselves
in
its
water
.
There
had
been
a
bridge
of
wood
across
,
but
it
had
rotted
and
fallen
leaving
only
the
broken
posts
near
the
bank
.
Bilbo
kneeling
on
the
brink
and
peering
forward
cried
:
"
There
is
a
boat
against
the
far
bank
!
Now
why
could
n't
it
have
been
this
side
!
"
"
How
far
away
do
you
think
it
is
?
"
asked
Thorin
,
for
by
now
they
knew
Bilbo
had
the
sharpest
eyes
among
them
.
"
Not
at
all
far
.
I
should
n't
think
above
twelve
yards
.
"
"
Twelve
yards
!
I
should
have
thought
it
was
thirty
at
least
,
but
my
eyes
do
n't
see
as
well
as
they
used
a
hundred
years
ago
.
Still
twelve
yards
is
as
good
as
a
mile
.
We
ca
n't
jump
it
,
and
we
dare
n't
try
to
wade
or
swim
.
"
"
Can
any
of
you
throw
a
rope
?
"
