Quote:
the weather has warmed up in southern middle Tennessee
Lyta (doesn't want to go to Moria...doesn't want to go to Moria...keep repeating ad infinitum...add-in: doesn't want to freeze...heh heh...what an adventure!)
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Lyta: Are you close to Pulaski? I have 2 grandchildren who live there. Since I'll be going to visit next weekend, I'm glad to hear that the weather has warmed up.
Don't worry--Moria isn't so bad.
Just stay close to Legolas...
Lyta (Hobbit in the Holler)
*SNORK*
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Our Company spent the day yesterday carrying our boats and gear along the portage path past the Sarn Gebir. Aragorn (
Mr. I-know-this-river-like-I-know-the-back-of-my-hand) had thought we had several more days travel before we reached the rapids.
Incompetent twit! Not only were we almost capsized in the River, but we were attacked by orcs as well. However, the worst threat was the Winged Shadow that flew overhead. Luckily for these mortals, Legolas and I had our bows handy and he was able to shoot it from the sky.
Below the rapids, we relaunched the boats and continued our journey. Only 9 more leagues to Rauros...I must be ever vigilant in guarding against further enemy attacks, as well as any attempt by the Ringbearer to slip away on his own.
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Nothing happened that night worse than a brief drizzle of rain an hour before dawn. As soon as it was fully light they started. Already the fog was thinning. They kept as close as they could to the western side, and they could see the dim shapes of the low cliffs rising ever higher, shadowy walls with their feet in the hurrying river. In the mid-morning the clouds drew down lower, and it began to rain heavily. They drew the skin-covers over their boats to prevent them being flooded, and drifted on; little could be seen before them or about them through the grey falling curtains.
The rain, however, did not last long. Slowly the sky above grew lighter, and then suddenly the clouds broke, and their draggled fringes trailed away northward up the river. The fogs and mists were gone. Before the travellers lay a wide ravine, with great rocky sides to which clung, upon shelves and in narrow crevices, a few thrawn trees. The channel grew narrower and the River swifter. Now they were speeding along with little hope of stopping or turning, whatever they might meet ahead. Over them was a lane of pale-blue sky, around them the dark overshadowed River, and before them black, shutting out the sun, the hills of Emyn Muil, in which no opening could be seen.