They were two days out from Bree.
To lighten their mood and encourage them to see him as less frightening and strange, Strider lit his pipe and lingered awhile at the campfire, pointing to the various constellations and telling them elven stories.
Sam, however, seemed more ill at ease than ever, and whispered cautiously to Frodo at the edge of the firelight.
“I’ll admit, he seems trustworthy after all. But can he be much of a guide? He’s got the stars all wrong, he has! Imagine, calling the Frying Pan a butterfly, or thinking the Hoe is a sword!”
Chris and I always meant to write this as a longer story, but we never got around to it