The days of our journey begin to blur one into another. At dawn, we arise and break our fast with cram and water. We march until mid-day, when we halt briefly to rest and partake of more cram and water. We then continue marching until the day wanes, at which time we make camp, and end the day...with yet more cram and water. I begin to dream of the laden tables of Rivendell even during waking hours. Glorfindel has promised us a magnificent feast upon our arrival, and the hobbits will hold him to that promise.
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...days passed, without the ground or the scene changing much...they saw nothing, and heard no sound but the sigh of withered leaves and grass...Glorfindel still urged them on, and only allowed two brief halts during the day's march...So far there had been no sign or sound of pursuit that the hobbits could see or hear...
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"It's impossible to have Frodo without Sam, or Sam without Frodo. They're like two halves of one heart..."
"If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West..."
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