He steps back and gives him more space. It's not large, the garden he's got here, but it's comfortable, fragrant and cool with a breeze that whispers of distant trees. "It's the dooryard, for Bag End back home." And on the other side is the Hill, with another round door set into it. This one's worn and blue, where the one from the corridor is green. "Or it's a copy, any road." Sam tilts his head at the lathe fence, just holding back climbing bushes. "I'd never let those grow so tall, but they aren't there. The fence is a wall, right enough, and so's the Hill. They just don't look it."
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