When I had returned to my campsite, I quickly gathered my remaining supplies, and took a path heading south, in the hopes of avoiding any Dunlending scouting parties. I made my way through some craggy cliff sides, and soon I could see far across the landscape. To the west was the peaks of Caradhras, which could barely be seen, piercing high through the clouds.

"The path is lost!" 

"Turn back now!"

Eofeole cried out to his Dwarf companion, they were in the midst of a storm high on the pass of Caradhras. Cold and shaking were their very bodies, snow pouring down from the clouded skies. They could hardly see the path before themselves in the blizzard and were more lost than usual. The Dwarf could have gone on, but Eofeole would not go any further and had decided to turn back, with or without the Dwarf.

((Please note that this is in no way supposed to be taken for lore or IC, this is a legend that Nimlith told at Wilderness Appreciation Day. Legends may have a grain of truth in them but are usually not factually correct!
This is also based on a legend from my native country, but the facts and story have been changed quite a bit, only the outcome is the same...))