As Bilbo and the Dwarves set out from the Green Dragon, the immediate
task is simple: travel far, as quickly and quietly as possible. And so they do, out of the Shire, past
Bree, and on into the Lone-lands beyond, singing and telling tales as they go. Maybe adventures aren’t so bad after
all.
But as the Company pass into Rhudaur (with its dark hills and
evil-looking ruins) and over the Hoarwell to the Trollshaws, travelling conditions
worsen, the weather turns, and Bilbo’s mood sours.
Adventures [are] not all pony-rides in May-sunshine.
NARRATOR [BILBO's
thoughts]
Gandalf, of course, knows better. But he is not a member of the Company: for the present, he is merely along for the ride (en route for the White Council). Had they asked, he might have told them their peril.
There are no safe paths.
GANDALF.
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