So the Fellowship set off. Rosie wore the mithril corselet under the hoodie and cloak, and in addition to Sting at her side, she had tucked in her pocket Lanod, her trusty plastic butter knife. They paused for a rest on a rocky hilltop. While the others sat, Bobomir practiced swordfighting with Merry and Hunter.
"Why doesn't anyone ask my advice?" Ilmig complained cheerfully. "We could go through Moria. We'd have a blast!"
"I don't think so, Ilmig," Andyalf said, casting a forlorn glance at his pipe next to him.
Legolson studied a wispy cloud, chewing on his match apprehensively
A few feet away, Hunter tugged on Bobomir's sleeve and whispered in his ear.
"What? Why?" Bobomir questioned.
"Just say it!" the short hobbit demanded.
"Ok… marrying Merry is like marrying a goat."
"What?!" Merry burst out. "I can't believe you would say that!"
Soon, Bobomir was on the ground, being attacked by Merry and Hunter, who had, curiously enough, come to his sister's aid.
Now the others began to notice the cloud. It had an odd, disjointed look, and it moved quickly against the wind.
Legolson's eyes grew wide.
"Crebain from Dunland!"
In a brilliant flash of insight, Aragorn bellowed, "Hide!" at the top of his lungs. They scurried about, wedging themselves and their gear under the rocks just before a flock of evil looking crow like birds swept past. When they were gone, the nine emerged.
"Spies of Puffkinman," Andyalf muttered. "We have to go a different way now. Caradhras!"
The fellowship marched through the brilliant snow up the slope of the mountains. Rosie slipped and tumbled down the hill, her hoodie somehow coming off in the process. She stood shivering in her shortsleeved tunic as Bobomir picked up the hoodie and stared at it. Aragorn grunted a warning.
"Weird," Bobomir muttered, "everyone's being so stupid over this…… sweatshirt!"
"Bobomir!" Aragorn said. He nodded at Rosie.
The future steward of Gondor approached them.
"Sure. What would I want with a stupid hoodie anyway?"
…
The mountain was now steeper, and the snow swirled around them and mired them to the waist.
Rosie, clinging to Aragorn to keep her head above the surface, glared at Legolson as he strolled past, hardly making footprints in the drifts.
"I'd stick out my tongue if I weren't afraid it'd freeze," she muttered.
Wil, on the dúnadan's other side, asked her, "Can I throw my shoe at him?"
"Wil, you don't wear shoes."
"Hey, I hear somethin'!" Legolson said. "And man, this guy really sounds screwed up."
"It's Puffkinman!" Andyalf yelled.
They heard a rumble, and rocks and snow fell down on them.
"Andyalf!" Ilmig cried. "Oh, help me! Everyone knows you don't yell in an avalanche zone!"
"I know what I'm doing." He stood and shouted some more words. More snow came down and buried them. They surfaced after a moment, gasping and blue in the face. They shouted at each other, professing the merits of pressing on, passing through the gap of Rohan, or through Moria.
Finally, Andyalf said, "Let the hoodie-bearer decide."
They all looked to Rosie expectantly. She shivered.
"I don't care, as long as we get out of the cold. This is so like an industrial strength vacuum cleaner. It really sux. How 'bout Moria?"
"Fine," the wizard replied.
"I hate snow," Rosie mumbled. "I really do."