I don't own any of them . . . people, places or events. They all belong to JRR Tolkien.
6th OCTOBER
"Does it still hurt, Frodo?" Pip swaddled him in blankets.
Hurt. A small word . . . more fitted to the sting of a scraped knee . . . not large enough to encompass the agony that seared Frodo. It could not describe the constriction that stole his breath or the icy shaft that speared his heart, making him fearful each beat would be the last. Words alone could never describe it. It was smell, taste, touch, sound and sight. It was his world.
"Not too badly, Pip."
Tears anointed Frodo's hair as he was enfolded in Pippin's warm arms.
END