After their encounter with the trolls, the company travelled for many days through lands that grew increasingly wild and lonely. The forest of the Trollshaws gave way to rolling hills covered in heather and bracken, and these in turn gave way to rocky valleys where the wind blew cold and sharp. They saw no sign of other travellers, nor any houses or inns where they might rest. Each night they camped under the stars, huddled together for warmth, and each morning they rose with the sun and marched on.
Bungo's feet had developed blisters, and his back ached from carrying his pack. He had never walked so far in all his life, and he had certainly never slept on the ground, which was much harder than it looked in pictures. But he did not complain. He had seen how the dwarves respected him after the troll incident, and he was determined not to lose that respect by grumbling about a few sore feet.
One evening, as they were making camp in a sheltered valley, Gandalf called them together.
"We are approaching the edge of the wilderness," he said. "Beyond these hills lies the Last Homely House, and there we shall rest and recover before continuing our journey."
"Last Homely House?" said Bungo, perking up at the word "homely." "That sounds promising. Is it an inn? Do they have beds? And hot meals?"
Gandalf smiled. "It is better than any inn, Master Boffin. It is the house of Elrond, the Half-elf, master of Rivendell. There you will find rest and good food and the company of the Firstborn. But we are not there yet. We must cross the mountains first."
Bungo's heart sank. Mountains. He had seen mountains in the distance, their peaks white with snow, and they had looked very far away and very high. The thought of crossing them made his feet hurt just thinking about it.
The next morning, they began to climb. The path wound up the side of a great ridge, and soon the world fell away below them. Bungo did not look down. He kept his eyes on the path ahead and tried not to think about the long drop that waited on either side.
They climbed for three days, and the air grew thin and cold. Snow appeared in sheltered hollows, and the wind cut through their cloaks like knives. On the third night, they camped in a cave high on the mountainside, and Bungo thought he had never been so cold in his life. He huddled in his blanket, shivering, and wondered if he would ever feel warm again.
In the middle of the night, he was woken by a sound. It was a strange sound, a sort of scratching and scrabbling, as if something was climbing the rock outside the cave. He sat up and listened. The dwarves were all asleep, snoring in a chorus. Gandalf was awake, though, standing at the cave entrance and peering out into the darkness.
"What is it?" whispered Bungo.
"Goblins," said Gandalf grimly. "They have found us. Wake the others, quickly and quietly."
Bungo shook the dwarves awake, one by one, hissing at them to be silent. They were none too pleased at being woken, but the sight of Gandalf's face silenced any complaints. Soon they were all on their feet, weapons drawn, waiting.
The scratching grew louder. Then a head appeared at the cave entrance—a hideous head, with flat nostrils and pointed ears and eyes that glowed in the dark. It was a goblin, and behind it were more, dozens more, their faces crowding together in the moonlight.
"Now!" cried Gandalf, and he brought his staff down on the ground with a crack. A flash of white light burst from it, blinding the goblins at the front. They fell back with shrieks, and the company rushed forward, hacking and slashing at anything that moved.
Bungo found himself in the middle of a battle, which was not at all where he wanted to be. He drew his little knife and held it up, though he had no idea what to do with it. A goblin lunged at him, and he ducked, stumbling backwards. The goblin lunged again, and this time Bungo's knife came up and caught it in the arm. It howled and dropped its sword, and Bungo ran.
He ran out of the cave and down the mountainside, not caring where he was going, just wanting to get away from the goblins. Behind him he heard shouts and screams and the clash of weapons, but he did not stop. He ran until he could run no more, and then he collapsed against a rock, gasping for breath.
When he looked up, he was alone. The moon had gone behind a cloud, and he could see nothing but darkness. He had no idea where the others were, or which way he had come, or how to find them again.
"Well," he said to himself, "this is a fine mess. Lost in the mountains, no food, no friends, and probably goblins everywhere. Mother always said I should have stayed home and tended my garden."
He sat there for a long time, feeling very sorry for himself. Then he heard a voice.
"Bungo! Bungo Boffin!"
It was Gandalf. Bungo scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards the sound. Soon he saw a light—the light of Gandalf's staff—and there was the wizard, with the dwarves all around him, looking tired and battered but alive.
"Bungo!" cried Gandalf when he saw him. "There you are! We thought you had been captured, or worse."
"I ran," said Bungo sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do."
"You did exactly right," said Thorin, surprising him. "Running is sometimes the wisest choice. And you led some of the goblins away from us. That took courage."
Bungo did not think it had taken courage—he had simply been terrified—but he did not argue. He was just glad to be alive and with his companions again.
"We cannot stay here," said Gandalf. "The goblins will regroup and come after us. We must find a way down from these mountains before dawn."
And so they marched on through the night, stumbling and tripping in the dark, until at last they saw a light in the distance. It was a small light, warm and golden, and it seemed to call to them.
"What is that?" asked Bungo.
"That," said Gandalf, "is the Last Homely House. We have reached Rivendell."