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At first, the snow was a marvel. The way it crunched and creaked underfoot, the dazzling brightness, and the pale blue shadows cast by the Fellowship were fascinating to the hobbits, who did not often see snow, and especially not so much of it at once. When the snow began falling from above, they were delighted by the dancing flakes, softly dusting cloaks and curls and eyelashes.
Then the way narrowed, the wind howled, and the snow suddenly did not seem nearly so agreeable. Cold pellets of ice dripped down necks, snow clumped in foothair and around ankles, and legs grew recalcitrant, unwilling to step up and over yet another drift. Shivering and weary, even the fire finally lit did not ease the hobbits' discomfort in the deepening, menacing snow.
The decision to turn back was welcome, with the promise of sunlight and warmth and, most importantly, no more snow.
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