Scafell Pike had gone swimmingly, conquered in a blaze of unrealistic enthusiasm and reminiscences about old times, and how it wasn't that cold, not compared to Caradhras, but now the Fellowship has found itself stranded on Snowdon, watching Aragorn and Legolas bicker over an Ordinance Survey map that had been bought sometime during the First World War and not been replaced since. A chill wind blows from the east, biting through their state-of-the-art parkas and affecting Aragorn's old woolens not at all, and they have been utterly alone since the Octegenarian Runner's Club passed them up an hour ago. Frodo is starting to gibber.
[yes answering my own prompt why not?] [for the curious: Bagenders]
[yes answering my own prompt why not?] [for the curious: Bagenders]
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