Sam strikes me as the kind of pony that will unhesitatingly carry his master until he drops dead from fatigue.
Thinking of Frodo on the Emyn Muil, somehow I was reminded of a bloodhound, on the trail, that wouldn't stop until the prey had been treed; only Frodo's trail was the road to Mount Doom. But he wouldn't stop til he got there.
Not that that comes anywhere near doing him justice.
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...down to the water to see the elves dance and sing upon the midsummer's eve.
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