Wandering aimlessly at first in
the wood, Frodo found that his feet were leading him up towards the slopes of a hill. He
came to a path, the dwindling ruins of a road long ago. In steep places stairs of stone
had been hewn, but now they were cracked and worn, and split by the roots of trees. For
some while he climbed, not caring which way he went, until he came to a grassy place.
Rowan-trees grew about it, and in the midst was a wide flat stone. The little upland lawn
was open upon the East and was filled now with the early sunlight. Frodo halted and looked
out over the River, far below him, to Tol Brandir and the birds wheeling in the great gulf
of air between him and the untrodden isle. The voice of Rauros was a mightly roaring
mingled with a deep throbbing boom.
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