It was an hour past midday and the second day since they left the tower of Ankor. The sun was bright and the air cool, but the snow had not melted as they rode along, and the fluffy blanket of white that had appeared so picturesque as they looked out from the copse of trees, warm and fresh from a long sleep, now hid any ground sign that Fili might have read.

They had ridden slowly yesterday to ease Betta's injured arm, and it had taken them all day to reach the end of the broken land. Last night, they had camped below the stretch of stone ravines, and by noon this day, they had come to the end of the rent land and passed on into the softly rolling hills of upper Eriador that was once a part of the lost realm of Arnor.

For his part, Fili was glad of the extra time they had taken. He looked out across the white hills and was no longer confident that he could find the bridge they looked for. The slow ride the day before had bought him time to recall to mind the journey he had taken with Gloin. It was the only time that he had been in these lands, but then it had been summer and the ground was bare. In winter, every hill they passed, Fili wondered if it was no hill at all but a drift of snow that hid the stonework he looked for. He wished that he had marked the path better the last time he had wandered here, but thirty years ago, he had not known that he would return.

For the second day, Fili kept their ride slow. He did not want to risk missing any landmark that might jog his memory, but even the slow ride was a trial to him. For every day that passed, he counted against the time that they had to return to Ered Luin.

Two months at the most, Thorin had said he would wait, at least until Balin returned and Tharkun arrived to give council. Once his plans were laid, there would be no delay; Thorin would want to set off for Erebor whether Fili and Kili went with him or not. In his heart, Fili could not believe that their uncle would leave without knowing that his nephews were safe, but the choice would be bitter, his kin or the kingdom of his fathers.

It was not a choice that Fili wished to put before his already unhappy uncle.

Pulling his pony to a halt at the rise of a low ridge, Fili raised his hand to shield his eyes. He was beginning to understand the tales that the old Dwarves told of snow-blindness. The sun reflected off the glaring white and burned his eyes, but he stared into it. They could not wander the land forever, and the best place to spot the riverbed would be near to the eastern side of the valley where it first emerged.

"Come on, then," Kili muttered, and spurred his pony forward again.

Fili sighed and followed him. His brother had been anxious all day and the night before, but Fili did not know why. Today, Kili had spent the morning riding swiftly ahead of them only to turn round and ride back or to be force to wait until they caught up with him. He complained loudly that Fili was deliberately dragging his heels, but he never once laid the blame on Betta's shoulders, even if she was the partly the cause for their slow pace.

Fili did not point this out. Betta had been too quiet lately, and last night she had spent hours staring silently down at the map spread on her knees. She spoke little, and he did not pry. Since their truce, there had not yet been a fight between them, and he wanted the peace to last.

Kili spoke to him, and Fili nodded, but he was looking out across the wide hills at the vast sea of snow that surrounded them, full of white-capped waves.

"Do you hear me?" Kili asked, raising his voice.

Fili frowned. Betta was ridding too far behind for her to be the intended hearer. "Yes, of course I hear you," he said.

Kili shook his head. "I won't bother to ask you to repeat what I have been saying as I know that you did not hear. I said that we should have searched the ravine for an orc camp when we had the chance. There may have been food, and I am hungry for a change from watery stew and dry bread."

"Not even your hunger would be strong enough to stomach orc meat," Fili said. "If you want meat, then you should have hunted better than squirrels." He pulled short his pony again and stood up in his saddle to look ahead. "Does that look like stonework to your eyes?" he asked, pointing to an odd-shaped hill.

"No," Kili said, not bothering to look, "and neither did the last drift of snow. Why are we worrying over a lost bridge now? Don't we know which way to go from here? North and to the east."

Fili sighed, for this was not the first time his brother had said that or something like it. And it was not the first time that he had explained, "The barren lands are wide, my brother. Many leagues lie between us and the northern bay, and twice as many between that and the mountains of Angmar. We could wander for a year and find no sign of any treasure, so stop your complaining and open your eyes."

"My eyes are open!"

Kili spurred his pony on ahead and left his brother behind. Fili frowned at him but did not rush to follow. Kili would not go farther than the next ridge; he had not ridden out of sight of Betta all that day or the last.

Fili did not know the reason for his brother's impatience any more than he knew the reason for Betta's ongiong silence – although he could guess at both and probably would hit near the mark. He wished that they were riding behind him and talking together, amusing each other as they had done in the past and leaving him in peace to think.

A sudden shout broke through his thoughts. Ahead of him, Fili saw Kili's pony stumble down and disappear as it fell, taking its rider with it. They vanished from sight, buried under the snow.

"Kili!"

Fili rode forward but stopped his pony before it, too, could fall into whatever gap was hidden there. He saw a slope in the ground and the tracks through the snow showed where the pony had fallen. The hidden drop seemed to be a wide, shallow trench cut into the ground that had been filled in by the storm's blowing snow. It was one last and treacherous ravine shot out from the rent lands that he thought they had given wide berth.

He saw Kili's pony lying perhaps five feet below the level of the ground, half buried; it was on its side and kicking its legs as it struggled to find footing in the deep, soft white. It cried out as it struggled, and most of the baggage that had been tied to its back lay scattered from the fall. Some of the heavier bundles of wood were still tied to it and weighing it down.

There was no sign of Kili, and Fili was afraid that his brother lay crushed under the animal. The pony had not fallen far before the snow caught and held it, but the more it kicked and rolled, the better chance it would injure itself or his brother.

Fili jumped down from his pony just as Betta rode up beside him. He threw her the reins. "Don't let the animals fall in," he called to her.

"Be careful," she said, as she looked down into the trench. She took his pony and rode back from the edge to a safe distance but still close.

Speaking gentle words to the frightened pony, Fili approached the trench and found that the slope was not as steep as he had feared. The snow was hard-packed in many places. Only the weight of the pony, and the fact that its rider had been too distracted to look before blundering into it, had caused Kili to fall. They might have forded the gap and walked their ponies across with only a little difficultly. A large man on foot carrying only his own weight could have crossed it and never known what he passed.

"Kili!"

Hurriedly, but cautiously, Fili forced a path for himself through the snow and climbed down the slope. He made his way to the pony, still speaking softly, and the animal grew calmer. The drifts around it were churned up from its movements, and that made it easier for Fili to dig out as much as he could.

Even so, he was hot and sweating by the time he was able to cut free the bags that were still tied to the pony and to help it drag itself to its feet. The animal shook the snow from its back and with a cry of gladness, pulled itself up the slope.

Once the pony was on solid ground again and free of the trench, it heard the call of its fellows and eagerly trotted towards them. Betta took hold of the reins for that animal as well, but she looked toward Fili, anxiously.

"Where is he?" she called, and the worry was plain in her voice.

Fili did not answer. It was good luck that the snow, though firm, was also soft in many places and the pony had taken no real hurt from its fall. The animal escaped with no broken bones. Fili hoped that his brother had been as lucky.

He pushed aside the fallen baggage and dug down into the snow. There was a sunken hole beneath where the animal had lain, and the snow was softer and easy to thrust his hands through into the depths. He felt blindly through the drift until he found a familiar elbow and pulled.

There must have been a sinkhole of sorts, some pocket of air in the snow that Kili had fallen into that had saved him from the weight of the pony landing on top of him. He was bruised but not injured. He came up sputtering, his mouth and eyes full of cold snow; he shook himself just as the pony had, and let out a gasp and a shout.

"What devilry is this!" His head and shoulders bore a covering several inches thick and his hood and pockets were full of the stuff. His beard was stuck full of it, and he was so comical, still half-buried, shivering and angry, covered in white that Fili laughed with relief.

"Did I not tell you to keep your eyes open, brother," he said. "Next time you will listen to me!"

"You were meant to be our leader," Kili said. "Better than open eyes would be a lookout who gives fair warning of trouble."

"Then you must learn to follow your leader," Fili told him, "and not keep riding on ahead of him. You were the one eager to look forward."

The dwarves pulled themselves out of the snow and climbed up onto land again. Betta laughed gladly to see them both safe and whole. She offered Kili a handkerchief, and he took it to wipe his face and beard. Fili looked around and, now that his eyes had been opened to it, he saw that the shadow of the trench was not only a ravine from the western land. It was a long line that wound out from the valleys, passed to the north of them and headed east in a wide loop. He knew from his last journey here that the dry riverbed would eventually wind south toward the North Downs, but before it did, they would find the stone bridge.

"Good luck, brother!" Fili said, clapping Kili on the back with his hand. "You have found our riverbed. And there," he pointed to the north, "we will find our bridge! I would bet all of Betta's fine treasure that we cross it before nightfall."

"Bet your own share," Kili said. He was not as excited as his brother. The snow had filled more than his hood. It had poured down his back and into his coat. He sat shivering on his pony and feeling the ache of his bruises. It was long before either Betta or Fili could get him to say anything. He rode sullen and silent, except when he complained of the cold, and it did not help his mood that Fili continued to laugh at him.