I paused a minute. I don't know why, just I, couldn't find the words to
explain it in my head. Like being blind and trying to explain what it feels
like. I didn't know why I let him go. Gollum, my worst enemy, who had
betrayed my master to near death. All the times the beast had lead us into
peril.
And though my head was full of odd thoughts I still had Mister Frodo to worry about. I turned but he was already out of sight. I ran ahead to catch up with him. But as I spun round the bend, the empty path lay before me. Where was he?
"Mister Frodo!" I called. My voice echoed a thousand times over. He couldn't have failed to hear it. But he didn't reply and there was no sound to say that he'd even heard me.
"Frodo!" I shouted again, moving forward. My hands were throbbing with pain but I didn't want to look at them. The state I was in, I probably would have vomited over the mountainside.
"Please, Frodo," I sobbed, "Frodo, where are you?"
But it was all so empty and desolate. The path arced up like a cat and I clambered up a steep pebbled slope, raking cuts down my legs and sides. I hurt all over and my head was spinning from the increasing heat. I reached the shelf and stumbled to my feet, leaning on the wall. I was standing in the mountain, well, inside it. Within the very walls. And noise was just everywhere. Rumbling and crashing and light that streamed about me in wreaths. There was a tremendous explosion and I covered my eyes, blinking and coughing at the hail of dust thrown up. Laid out were the Cracks of Doom. A chasm so great and fathomless it was like a.like a.oh, I never could describe it. It was so terrible and yet so incredible. You couldn't tear your eyes away from it. And there stood Frodo, his old orc cloak flapping behind him and his face shining with perspiration. The expression on his face made me take a step back. There was no Frodo Baggins in him. The way he stood, the way he held It up, the way he glared down into the boiling lava far far below.
"I will not destroy it," he yelled through the noise, "It is mine!"
And though my head was full of odd thoughts I still had Mister Frodo to worry about. I turned but he was already out of sight. I ran ahead to catch up with him. But as I spun round the bend, the empty path lay before me. Where was he?
"Mister Frodo!" I called. My voice echoed a thousand times over. He couldn't have failed to hear it. But he didn't reply and there was no sound to say that he'd even heard me.
"Frodo!" I shouted again, moving forward. My hands were throbbing with pain but I didn't want to look at them. The state I was in, I probably would have vomited over the mountainside.
"Please, Frodo," I sobbed, "Frodo, where are you?"
But it was all so empty and desolate. The path arced up like a cat and I clambered up a steep pebbled slope, raking cuts down my legs and sides. I hurt all over and my head was spinning from the increasing heat. I reached the shelf and stumbled to my feet, leaning on the wall. I was standing in the mountain, well, inside it. Within the very walls. And noise was just everywhere. Rumbling and crashing and light that streamed about me in wreaths. There was a tremendous explosion and I covered my eyes, blinking and coughing at the hail of dust thrown up. Laid out were the Cracks of Doom. A chasm so great and fathomless it was like a.like a.oh, I never could describe it. It was so terrible and yet so incredible. You couldn't tear your eyes away from it. And there stood Frodo, his old orc cloak flapping behind him and his face shining with perspiration. The expression on his face made me take a step back. There was no Frodo Baggins in him. The way he stood, the way he held It up, the way he glared down into the boiling lava far far below.
"I will not destroy it," he yelled through the noise, "It is mine!"