A/N: The first line of this fic came (in the middle of church!) before the plot, and I guess I just took it and ran... :)
The road we walk is a long one and a hard and a steep, yet we tread on. The ash-fumes of the Black Land choke us as we inhale the putrid air, yet we turn never back. It is utterly dark and our bony fingers tremble with suppressed excitement: We are driven on.
It speaks to us, we can feel It, and Its power cries out to us with a seductive voice. Every fragment of our feeble existence is consumed by It. We desire only to feel It in our skinless hand again, the weight of It pressing on our thin finger, Its addictive sensation of invisibility yet of power seemingly beyond our grasp.
We must have It, and we shall, whatever the cost.
"And we have a hard road ahead, the worst road of all." -Frodo
A/N: I would love it if you reviewed! :D