Over the next few days, Strider led the party swiftly over the rugged terrain. Through wide fields and dense forests they passed, singing songs and talking of their homes and of what awaited them in Rivendell, anything to take their minds off the tediousness of walking all day long. The hobbits thought it would be slightly more bearable if the weather were to improve (ever since leaving Bree, they had had nothing but wind and rain) but that was out of the question. It was now October and the temperature had dropped significantly, so that they were constantly shivering.
"It will be even colder when winter comes," Pippin said miserably one night as they sat around the campfire, trying to keep warm.
Their only consolation was the time when they stopped to rest for the night. Throughout the day, Strider would tutor Bridie on the basics of surviving in the wild. Then, in the evening, the two would go hunting and bring back their catch (usually a deer or a rabbit) for supper. Bridie also put her years of gathering in the forest to good use and was able to find herbs and berries to add to their meals.
"We shall make a ranger of you yet," Strider told her.
On the sixth day of their journey, they came to an old, ruined fortress atop a steep hill. "This was the great watchtower of Amon Sûl. We shall rest here tonight," Strider informed them.
Bridie and the hobbits were near collapsing by the time they reached their resting place, which was a cave of sorts etched into the hill. Strider, however, seemed unaffected by the climb they had just made, and his companions wondered whether it was even possible for him to get tired. The ranger grabbed a bundle off of Bill and unrolled it on the floor, revealing five swords. "These are for you. Keep them close," he said, tossing one to each of the hobbits. "You will need one as well," he added, handing the last sword to Bridie.
"But I already have a weapon," she pointed out, gesturing to her bow and quiver.
"All well and good if your enemies are at a distance," Strider replied. "But, when they are closing in on you, you will find that a blade is far more effective."
Bridie accepted the gift, albeit reluctantly. It had taken her several months to master archery. How would she be able to use a sword when she had never even held one before? "Do you…?" she gulped, almost afraid to speak her mind. "Do you think we will be safe? I mean…those black riders won't find us up here, will they?"
"As long as we do not draw attention to ourselves," Strider said. "But it is good to be prepared, just in case. Now, I'm going to have a look around. Stay here with the hobbits."
Bridie nodded, trying to appear calm as she watched the ranger leave. Inside, she was panicking to the point of hysteria as she thought of all sorts of disasters that could occur in his absence. What if he never returned? What if the black riders managed to track them down? What if they came up to the cliff and murdered them all? What if…? What if none of that happened and everything turned out alright? A voice in the back of her head countered. After all, they haven't caught up with you so far. Why should they now?/em This thought reassured Bridie, and she set about helping the hobbits to unroll their blankets and arrange them on the cliff's rocky surface. At least the work kept her mind occupied, leaving little room for worry. They sat together on their blankets, passing the time with idle chatter as they waited for Strider to return. However, when the sunset's pink light darkened to a deep indigo and there was still no sign of him, they began to grow nervous.
"Where's that dratted ranger got to?" Sam murmured, trying not to sound as anxious as he was.
By now, Bridie's eyelids were growing heavy, and her head kept drooping. She tried everything she could to stay awake: breathing deeply, rubbing her eyes, anything. But the darker the sky grew, the less effective these methods became. A glance at Frodo told her he was feeling the same way. Sam noticed as well.
"Why don't you two get some sleep?" he advised. "We'll wake you up when Strider comes back."
"IF he comes back," Merry added under his breath as Bridie and Frodo lay down and shut their eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
The shout from Frodo jolted Bridie awake. She sat up, heart battering her chest, and began looking around for what had garnered this reaction. A few feet away, Sam, Merry and Pippin had lit a fire and were cooking sausages and bacon over it. At first, Bridie didn't understand why Frodo would shout at them for that, but then she noticed how bright the fire was, for the entire cave was illuminated by its flames. Immediately, the black riders came to mind. If they were in the area, they would definitely see it. The hobbits might as well have set off a firework to announce their whereabouts.
"PUT IT OUT! PUT IT OUT!" She and Frodo cried, racing over to stomp out the fire, ignoring the protests of their companions. Once the flames were extinguished, Bridie and Frodo stood back, panting. They felt as if they had just made a desperate sprint to escape a wild animal. Merry, Pippin and Sam sat where they were, gazing, disheartened, at the smoking pile of wood where their fire had been only moments ago.
"Why did you do that?" Merry demanded, looking at Bridie and Frodo as if they had gone mad.
Frodo glowered at his friends, resisting the urge to slap them across the face. "You FOOLS! Do you want the black riders to find us?!"
Just then, a familiar screech echoed in the distance and their stomachs dropped down to their toes. Running to the edge of the cliff, they saw five black shapes riding towards them. Bridie gave Sam, Merry and Pippin a murderous look. Well done, lads, she thought. VERY well done!
Everyone ran up a narrow staircase to the top of the ruin. With swords in their hands, they stood in a circle, scanning their surroundings in search of their pursuers. Bridie gripped the hilt of her sword tightly in both hands. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty. She imagined this was how soldiers felt when they were sent off to their first battle. A gasp from Frodo drew everyone's attention to where he was looking. Underneath a crumbling stone arch, a slightly darker shadow moved against the blackness of the night towards them, followed by four more figures. There was a collective hiss as five blades were unsheathed and aimed at the terrified group as their bearers slowly closed in. If Bridie and the hobbits were not panicking already, they definitely were now. This had to be a bad dream. It HAD to be! Things like this did not happen to quiet, country folk like them! They each prayed that they would wake up soon, but the nightmare continued.
"BACK YOU DEVILS!" Sam shouted, charging at one of the dark figures. His small act of courage was for naught as his opponent quickly disarmed him and shoved him out of the way. Merry and Pippin stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the riders, determined to protect Frodo and Bridie. But, when one of the riders made a move to grab them, the two hobbits fled. Poor Frodo was so scared, he dropped his sword and stumbled back, falling to the ground. Now left to fend for both herself and Frodo, Bridie raised her sword towards the black riders.
"Stay back!" she ordered, trying to sound assertive and commanding, though she was probably less threatening than a kitten to them./span/p
The tallest of the group, who, Bridie guessed, was their leader, strode forward until the material of his robes were almost brushing her skin and tilted his head slightly as if he were examining her. A lump formed in Bridie's throat.
"Now…now don't…don't make me tell you…again," Bridie stammered.
Suddenly, the rider lunged at her. Clamping a cold, iron-clad hand around her throat, he lifted her up off her feet with formidable strength. Bridie felt as if the air was being sucked out of her lungs as she dangled above the ground, clawing uselessly at the arm suspending her. As she looked down at the rider, she saw, with horror, that he had no facial features whatsoever. He was completely faceless. No! That wasn't possible! It was probably just a mask or a shadow. But something told her this was not the case.
The world flashed past Bridie's eyes in a blur as the rider tossed her aside. She gave a pained grunt as her body collided with a nearby column and she struck her head against the stone. Everything around her took on a distorted look as she lay on the ground, dazed, holding her throbbing head. Just then, there came a shout that didn't sound like one of the black riders as another figure leapt into view, accompanied by a flash of orange. The black riders let out what sounded like shrieks of fear as the whoosh and clang of a sword filled her ears. As Bridie's vision began to clear, she realised that the figure was Strider, and the orange light was a flaming torch he carried. The riders leapt back as Strider swung his sword at them and set their robes on fire, sending them fleeing into the night.
Once he was sure they were all gone, Strider ran over to Bridie. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, helping her onto her feet.
"I…I think so," Bridie answered, rubbing her forehead. She winced as she felt a sharp pain above her left eyebrow where she had hit her head. A nasty bruise was already starting to form there.
"Strider!" Sam called from a short distance away.
Turning in the direction of Sam's voice, they noticed him, Pippin and Merry crouching over Frodo who, they noticed with alarm, was looking pale and weak. Upon closer inspection, they realised why. In Frodo's left shoulder was a deep, bleeding wound, the kind that could only have been made by a sword. No prizes for guessing whose sword it was. Bridie remembered reading about treating stab wounds in the book Mildred had given her. With clumsy hands, she pulled off her cloak, folded it and pressed it down on the wound. Frodo whimpered at the pressure and tried to push Bridie away.
"No, Frodo," she said firmly, though her heart was breaking for the poor hobbit. She caught his hand in her free one and set it down gently. "You need to keep this on or you will lose more blood." Frodo looked up at Bridie and gave a single shaky nod, seeming to understand.
"Help him, Strider!" Sam begged of the ranger, panicked and tearful for his injured friend.
"He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade," Strider informed him, picking up a sword that lay on the ground beside Frodo. The blade dissolved into ashes, leaving only the hilt which Strider dropped in disgust. "This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs elvish medicine."
Frodo moaned in pain as Strider lifted him up and hoisted him over his shoulder. Bridie and the other three hobbits followed the ranger as he carried Frodo swiftly down the cliff, calling for them to hurry. None of them needed to be told twice. Now that their friend was wounded, they were more determined than ever to reach Rivendell. They could only pray that Frodo would hold out long enough. But, with his condition, and with Rivendell being six days away, as Sam pointed out, that did not seem likely.