return

1222 the return of the king
plains of Gorgoroth was pocked with great holes, as if, while
it was still a waste of soft mud, it had been smitten with a
shower of bolts and huge slingstones. The largest of these
holes were rimmed with ridges of broken rock, and broad
fissures ran out from them in all directions. It was a land in
which it would be possible to creep from hiding to hiding,
unseen by all but the most watchful eyes: possible at least for
one who was strong and had no need for speed. For the
hungry and worn, who had far to go before life failed, it had
an evil look.
Thinking of all these things Sam went back to his master.
He had no need to rouse him. Frodo was lying on his back
with eyes open, staring at the cloudy sky. ‘Well, Mr. Frodo,’
said Sam, ‘I’ve been having a look round and thinking a bit.
There’s nothing on the roads, and we’d best be getting away
while there’s a chance. Can you manage it?’
‘I can manage it,’ said Frodo. ‘I must.’
Once more they started, crawling from hollow to hollow,
flitting behind such cover as they could find, but moving
always in a slant towards the foothills of the northern range.
But as they went the most easterly of the roads followed
them, until it ran off, hugging the skirts of the mountains,
away into a wall of black shadow far ahead. Neither man nor
orc now moved along its flat grey stretches; for the Dark
Lord had almost completed the movement of his forces, and
even in the fastness of his own realm he sought the secrecy
of night, fearing the winds of the world that had turned
against him, tearing aside his veils, and troubled with tidings
of bold spies that had passed through his fences.
The hobbits had gone a few weary miles when they halted.
Frodo seemed nearly spent. Sam saw that he could not
go much further in this fashion, crawling, stooping, now
picking a doubtful way very slowly, now hurrying at a
stumbling run.
‘I’m going back on to the road while the light lasts, Mr.
Frodo,’ he said. ‘Trust to luck again! It nearly failed us last