A Short Cut to Mushrooms
In the morning Frodo woke refreshed. He was lying in a bower made by a living tree with branches laced and drooping to the ground; his bed was of fern and grass, deep and soft and strangely fragrant. The sun was shining through the fluttering leaves, which were still green upon the tree. He jumped up and went out.
Sam was sitting on the grass near the edge of the wood. Pippin was standing studying the sky and weather. There was no sign of the Elves.
'They have left us fruit and drink, and bread,' said Pippin. 'Come and have your breakfast. The bread tastes almost as good as it did last night. I did not want to leave you any, but Sam insisted.'
Frodo sat down beside Sam and began to eat. 'What is the plan for today?' asked Pippin.
'To walk to Bucklebury as quickly as possible,' answered Frodo, and gave his attention to the food.
'Do you think we shall see anything of those Riders?' asked Pippin cheerfully. Under the morning sun the prospect of seeing a whole troop of them did not seem very alarming to him.
'Yes, probably,' said Frodo, not liking the reminder. 'But I hope to get across the river without their seeing us.'
'Did you find out anything about them from Gildor?'
'Not much
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