Boromir looks to Sam from the rise he had crested to keep a look out. Even in these bright lands not far from Imladris; after so many months questing for it by that name he still had difficulty calling it Rivendell; he is wary of ambush by the servants of the enemy.

"They certainly do, master Gamgee." He casts his eyes around the horizon, made much closer by the mountains and the local flora. Appearing satisfied that a horde of orcs, or worse the Nine, are not about to charge from the cover of the undergrowth he quickly descends with less than hobbit grace. "But truly if you seek for stories of lore and legend then you are talking to the wrong son of Denethor." His eyes mist a little, his gaze intersecting the nearby scenery but quite obviously focused on something, or someone, much further away.