That same night, thirteen dwarves and one halfling slipped through the hidden door on the mountainside. Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit of the Contea, felt the heat before he saw the glow. His hand trembled on the hilt of a small elvish blade— Pungolo , it was named, for it glowed blue when Orcs were near. Now it remained dim. But something worse than Orcs waited below.
Before Bilbo could lie, Smaug reared. The cavern shook. Gold rained like hail. lo.hobbit 2 la desolazione.di.smaug ita
The mist over the Long Lake was thick as old milk, but Bard the Bowman’s eyes were sharper. From his barge, La Freccia , he watched the distant Mountain—Erebor—loom like a skull. A faint, sulfurous glow pulsed from its flanks. That same night, thirteen dwarves and one halfling
Bard the Bowman nocked an arrow made from a family heirloom, a black shaft forged in the lost city of Dale. Now it remained dim
“Bragging rights won’t save me from a dragon’s sneeze,” Bilbo muttered, but he slipped on the Ring—the small, cold circlet of gold he had found in the dark. The world turned grey and silent.
“Bain,” he said quietly, “if I fail, take the barge and go upriver. Do not look back.”
At the door, the dwarves pulled him out gasping. “Il tesoro?” Thorin demanded.