To the end of his days Bilbo could never remember how he found himself outside, without a hat, a walking stick or any money, and running as fast as his furry feet could carry him down the lane, past the great Mill, across The Water, and then on for a mile or more.
I wonder if we’ll ever be put into songs or tales…
Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
inspired by [x]
The Fellowship of the Ring
the hobbit + light