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.
