Across the Plain of Gorgoroth

Ash-laden Gorgoroth stretches to Mt. Doom.

Ten days they struggle through ditches, Lorien-cloaks shielding them.

Hunger wounds: they cut meals to a dawn mouthful of lembas and water. As Shelob's poison passes, the Ring's burden doubles.

"I see its gold-fire even in waking life," Frodo gasps, as they lie exhausted beneath Mt. Doom.

"I know."

"You do?"

Silence, then: "I see it, too." Paper-thin, the world between them and the Ring. Any longing may shred it – draw the Eye.

Sting lies child and heavy beneath Frodo's hand. "Who wins the argument when you dream?"

More silence. Finally: "I don't know."

For the Tolkien Weekly "Cut" challenge: prompt: to cut ties.