The Morning was cold and damp; heavy dew laid in the Dwarves’ beards, misted on each hair in beads. They woke shivering and hungry. Gordon allowed no food until nightfall, which left the company in low spirits.
York-ie and Gordon did not spend any time in vain; they moved the company out right away. They were led toward the mountains all that day, with little rest, and no food. Though they could drink to their hearts’ content, with the river close at hand, this did not please their rumbling stomachs. With the pace of their walk slowing from hunger, and weariness, they did not complete the length of travel that Gordon and York-ie had hoped. They only reached the mountains’ feet at nightfall, and even then a hard journey still laid ahead. The fear of another attack from the goblins sat heavy on York-ie’s heart, like an anvil in his breast pocket. For if he knew the evil way well enough, then he knew they would attack again, out of rage, and knowing that the company had no supplies to keep strong with, or fight with. Only hope could drive them on now, the hope that they could reach the house of Beorn before they starved.
The next day the company woke hungry and tired, but they continued their voyage again. Now the slopes of the Misty Mountains frowned down on them, with a thick morning fog hiding the heads of the mountains, and slowly as the sun crawled over them, the mist rose and only lingered in small clouds. York-ie led the Dwarves now, for his knowledge of climbing and the way of scaling rocky faces was more so than the Dwarves. The rocky ground slanted upward at a steady pace, rising and rising above the river, until all the golden land, and path of the river was in view. Though the pines began to crowd around them, blocking their outlook, many gaps were still found to admire the beauty of Middle Earth.
At last York-ie found a safe way to cross over to the other side of the river. While York-ie saw it as a safe way, the Dwarves looked at it as a perilous task. He began crossing the thin edge, hanging over the babbling waters far below. At first he slid his back along the rocky wall, but his feet soon were free to open up and step with less caution. The Dwarves scurried along behind York-ie, who strode with ease; the fat, wobbling bodies of the Dwarves hugged the mountainside, not daring to get any closer to the edge than what was possible. The course that York-ie followed was thin, formed from thousands of years of water trickling over the edge, slowly wearing away, and growing closer to the mountain. It took nearly ten to twenty minutes to pass all the Dwarves over these fountains that splashed down the mountainside. Even Gordon the Brave had his difficulties on the cliff; for even as the stern, feared warrior that he was respected as, he whimpered like a wet dog with every glance down to the distant ground under him.
By mid afternoon the company at last resting in an open deck of moss and stone. A waterfall crashed down upon the rocks behind them, falling through a hole that had been gnawed away by the years. A sunny land laid in front of them, glowing with a gold light as the fading green of Mirkwood filled in the background northward. The river shimmered under the sun, running swiftly toward the Great River that laid flat, yet bold in its deep bed. York-ie looked out in awe at the beauty, never whitnessing it before… it was a new sensation to him, and he was pleased by it.