In the blink of an eye, Baggins and Aine had already left Rivendell for several days, the young Hobbit having taken advantage of the journey to escape the panic spreading across Middle-earth.
The return trip was much more leisurely than the journey there, but without the pursuit of Orcs, no need for battles, no need for supplies, and no need to scout intelligence or test which path was viable, the speed was actually faster than when they came. At this rate, it would probably not take long to return to that peaceful, green place.
"Mr. Aine, look, this is the wasteland where we were hunted by the Orcs, and this tree still has the arrow you shot stuck in it!" All along the way, Baggins had been acting like a monkey, running excitedly to check out anything he encountered and then shouting.
"I didn't shoot that one; Kili shot it," Aine said helplessly.
"Huh? It's been so long, how can you tell the difference between the arrow you shot and the one Kili shot?"
"It's very simple," Aine said with a straight face. "My arrows never miss, hitting the mark every single time; every last one of them hit an Orc, and this arrow clearly missed! So it definitely was shot by Kili, needless to say."
"Oh! That makes sense!"
Baggins paid no more attention to that arrow, rode his horse forward a few steps, suddenly paused, looked up at the sky, spread his hands as if catching something from the air, and cried out in surprise, "It's snowing! Mr. Aine, it's snowing! Look!"
Aine squinted and took a look; it was indeed snowing.
Thin hexagonal flakes drifted slowly down from the sky, crystal-clear and white as snow. At first, they drifted only occasionally, but in the blink of an