Bilbo had only gotten a brief bit of sleep, for he had much to consider. The stars were fading before he had left his chair before the fire. What do I say of Sara to Rory? He thought of the harm he wished to inflict on Sara. It would be so easy… He could wear his ring, but, no, he wanted Sara to know who did this. Retrieve Sting from Bag End and return to use that blade on this dark creature. He recalled how it felt when Sting bit into the spiders, the crack of stiff carapace, then the odd, wet, velvet sensation of the blade as it vanished into the fat bodies. How they jerked and spasmed, not dropping at once like a goat in the autumn slaughter. How they hissed. How their green blood, like ichor, frothed as it left the wounds. He wanted to strike Sara like that. He wanted Sara howling, screaming, in pain, for as long as Frodo had sat in his arms and wept.