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- Джон Толкин
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- Властелин колец: Братство кольца
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- Стр. 193/422
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As
soon
as
the
daylight
was
full
,
they
had
some
hurried
food
and
packed
.
It
was
impossible
for
Frodo
to
walk
,
so
they
divided
the
greater
part
of
their
baggage
among
the
four
of
them
,
and
put
Frodo
on
the
pony
.
In
the
last
few
days
the
poor
beast
had
improved
wonderfully
;
it
already
seemed
fatter
and
stronger
,
and
had
begun
to
show
an
affection
for
its
new
masters
,
especially
for
Sam
.
Bill
Ferny
's
treatment
must
have
been
very
hard
for
the
journey
in
the
wild
to
seem
so
much
better
than
its
former
life
.
They
started
off
in
a
southerly
direction
.
This
would
mean
crossing
the
Road
,
but
it
was
the
quickest
way
to
more
wooded
country
.
And
they
needed
fuel
;
for
Strider
said
that
Frodo
must
be
kept
warm
,
especially
at
night
,
while
fire
would
be
some
protection
for
them
all
.
It
was
also
his
plan
to
shorten
their
journey
by
cutting
across
another
great
loop
of
the
Road
:
east
beyond
Weathertop
it
changed
its
course
and
took
a
wide
bend
northwards
.
They
made
their
way
slowly
and
cautiously
round
the
south-western
slopes
of
the
hill
,
and
came
in
a
little
while
to
the
edge
of
the
Road
.
There
was
no
sign
of
the
Riders
.
But
even
as
they
were
hurrying
across
they
heard
far
away
two
cries
:
a
cold
voice
calling
and
a
cold
voice
answering
.
Trembling
they
sprang
forward
,
and
made
for
the
thickets
that
lay
ahead
.
The
land
before
them
sloped
away
southwards
,
but
it
was
wild
and
pathless
;
bushes
and
stunted
trees
grew
in
dense
patches
with
wide
barren
spaces
in
between
.
The
grass
was
scanty
,
coarse
,
and
grey
;
and
the
leaves
in
the
thickets
were
faded
and
falling
.
It
was
a
cheerless
land
,
and
their
journey
was
slow
and
gloomy
.
They
spoke
little
as
they
trudged
along
.
Frodo
's
heart
was
grieved
as
he
watched
them
walking
beside
him
with
their
heads
down
,
and
their
backs
bowed
under
their
burdens
.
Even
Strider
seemed
tired
and
heavy-hearted
.
Before
the
first
day
's
march
was
over
Frodo
's
pain
began
to
grow
again
,
but
he
did
not
speak
of
it
for
a
long
time
.
Four
days
passed
,
without
the
ground
or
the
scene
changing
much
,
except
that
behind
them
Weathertop
slowly
sank
,
and
before
them
the
distant
mountains
loomed
a
little
nearer
.
Yet
since
that
far
cry
they
had
seen
and
heard
no
sign
that
the
enemy
had
marked
their
flight
or
followed
them
.
They
dreaded
the
dark
hours
,
and
kept
watch
in
pairs
by
night
,
expecting
at
any
time
to
see
black
shapes
stalking
in
the
grey
night
,
dimly
lit
by
the
cloud-veiled
moon
;
but
they
saw
nothing
,
and
heard
no
sound
but
the
sigh
of
withered
leaves
and
grass
.
Not
once
did
they
feel
the
sense
of
present
evil
that
had
assailed
them
before
the
attack
in
the
dell
.
It
seemed
too
much
to
hope
that
the
Riders
had
already
lost
their
trail
again
.
Perhaps
they
were
waiting
to
make
some
ambush
in
a
narrow
place
?
At
the
end
of
the
fifth
day
the
ground
began
once
more
to
rise
slowly
out
of
the
wide
shallow
valley
into
which
they
had
descended
.
Strider
now
turned
their
course
again
north-eastwards
,
and
on
the
sixth
day
they
reached
the
top
of
a
long
slow-climbing
slope
,
and
saw
far
ahead
a
huddle
of
wooded
hills
.
Away
below
them
they
could
see
the
Road
sweeping
round
the
feet
of
the
hills
;
and
to
their
right
a
grey
river
gleamed
pale
in
the
thin
sunshine
.
In
the
distance
they
glimpsed
yet
another
river
in
a
stony
valley
half-veiled
in
mist
.
'
I
am
afraid
we
must
go
back
to
the
Road
here
for
a
while
,
'
said
Strider
.
'
We
have
now
come
to
the
River
Hoarwell
,
that
the
Elves
call
Mitheithel
.
It
flows
down
out
of
the
Ettenmoors
,
the
troll-fells
north
of
Rivendell
,
and
joins
the
Loudwater
away
in
the
South
.
Some
call
it
the
Greyflood
after
that
.
It
is
a
great
water
before
it
finds
the
Sea
.
There
is
no
way
over
it
below
its
sources
in
the
Ettenmoors
,
except
by
the
Last
Bridge
on
which
the
Road
crosses
.
'
'
What
is
that
other
river
we
can
see
far
away
there
?
'
asked
Merry
.
'
That
is
Loudwater
,
the
Bruinen
of
Rivendell
,
'
answered
Strider
.
'
The
Road
runs
along
the
edge
of
the
hills
for
many
miles
from
the
Bridge
to
the
Ford
of
Bruinen
.
But
I
have
not
yet
thought
how
we
shall
cross
that
water
.
One
river
at
a
time
!
We
shall
be
fortunate
indeed
if
we
do
not
find
the
Last
Bridge
held
against
us
.
'
