What Empty Places are For

Chapter eight

Inside the little cave-like temporary shelter, two friends slept like seeds sleep in the earth. Like seeds, they had to wake, sooner or later. Pippin woke with a start. Boromir was having a bad dream it seemed. He turned around and patted Boromir's shoulder, calling the Man's name softly. Pippin jumped a little when his friend woke with a gasp and shook his head.

Once awake, they were reluctant to move. It was nice and warm under both cloaks and they were both now in late middle age with all that this entails, including the occasional stiff joints, and the cold made it worse. It was impossible for Boromir to stand in a place so close that even Pippin couldn't stand up straight in, and Boromir needed to stretch.

"We're getting too old for this sort of thing, Pippin." Boromir said.

"Nonsense!" Pippin laughed. "Next you'll be hobbling about in a shawl with a walking-stick!"

"Hobbling about --? I'll hobble you, you little scamp!" Boromir made a grab for Pippin's ankle, but Pippin was too quick for him. He laughed and scrambled for the little opening that had been plugged with twigs and leaves. "Old Man, you are far too old for such games!" he taunted. "Leave the rough-housing to us youngsters!" Pippin put his hands on the little "door" and pushed at it. Nothing happened. He pushed again. Still it remained plugged fast. He grabbed a handful of the twigs about the time Boromir grasped his ankle and pulled him backwards. The twigs came with Pippin, but he dropped them quickly.

"Old Man, is it?" Boromir said in his mock growl. Apparently Boromir had reverted from late middle age to young man again since he was tickling Pippin as if he was the young hobbit lad he had been so many years ago. Even squeaking and hooting with laughter, he noted that Boromir seemed almost young once again.

Man and hobbit finally collapsed, gasping after laughing fit to split their waistcoats. Boromir dug some more of the little honey-cakes from his pouch and tossed a couple to Pippin. They passed the water bag to each other before Pippin spoke once more. The water was warm from being kept near Boromir's skin, but Pippin was quite grateful it wasn't cool water. The last thing he wanted now was something cool.

"We have to dig our way out." Pippin said around a mouthful of honey-cake. "Before you so rudely grabbed me and tickled me like you were a rambunctious tweenager I discovered we are quite snowed in."

Still munching his honey-cake, Boromir crawled to the spot where the "door" had been. Pippin was right, they were snowed in. Boromir turned in the tight little space and gave the obstructing chunk of snow a good kick. Then he began to push at the snow. Finally he could see outside. The entire world seemed to have turned silent and white, like a blank piece of paper waiting for a writer to put pen to ink. He pushed more snow aside and wriggled out, then reached in to give Pippin and hand up.

Pippin looked around. Snow had ceased to fall and the skies looked like they were clearing, so he didn't think there would be more snow. He walked forward a few steps and looked once more around, finally getting his bearings.

"This way, Boromir, home is this way." Pippin gestured to Boromir to follow him. They had only gone a few steps when Pippin heard a loud crack from above. The branch of a tree, heavy with ice and snow, came down hard and struck Boromir a glancing blow just behind his ear, and the big Man collapsed. He sat up and shook his head. Blood was pouring from the wound. Pippin ran to him, knocking Boromir's bloody hand to one side so he could take a look at the damage. It was only a small wound, but head wounds always bleed freely. That wasn't what worried him so much as the lump that was rapidly swelling and turning blue.

"Here, Boromir, let's get you into that shelter and see if we can't stop this bleeding. Come, now, don't dawdle so." He held out his hand as if to help Boromir up. Boromir chuckled, then winced. Pippin seemed to forget sometimes that Boromir was not, King's Decree or no, a hobbit. He managed to get to his feet and staggered back to their shelter. Pippin crawled in behind him, gathered up the little half-frozen lump of twigs and leaves that served as a door, and plugged the entrance up once more.

Without asking, he rummaged through Boromir's pouch and found the little cloth the honey-cakes were wrapped in. He scooped up snow that had been pushed inside when Boromir had crawled back into the shelter, put it on the cloth and made a twist in the fabric, then pressed it to the wound with its rapidly growing lump. Boromir inhaled sharply with a hiss and winced again, but leaned back against the branches that made up the walls of the shelter and let Pippin continue pressing the cold cloth to his injury. The bleeding stopped soon enough, but the swelling was getting worse.

"How do you feel?" asked Pippin.

"Well, I'm going to have an awful headache, I can tell you." Boromir answered. "I'm quite dizzy. This may cause some problems, Pippin. We need to get back home. Head wounds can be tricky."

"Well, then, we had better get going." Pippin said firmly.

Once more the two friends crawled out of their little shelter, and Pippin led Boromir in the direction he felt would get them home quickest. Boromir staggered quite a bit. His eyes were beginning to look glassy and unfocused. His speech was slurred as if he was a little drunk. Pippin didn't like it at all. To make matters worse, Pippin's sense of direction seemed to have failed him. He and Merry, and later the two of them with Boromir, had wandered into the Old Forest before many times, ill reputation though the place had. Perhaps it was all the snow that had him confused. Pippin wondered what else could possibly go amiss.

But things soon became worse, still. Boromir lost his balance entirely, landing on his side in the snow. Pippin knelt next to him. "Boromir?" he called. To his horror, Boromir's eyes slid shut. Pippin shook him hard, but there was no response. Pippin first patted then gently slapped Boromir's face. Boromir was breathing, but he lay there like some dead thing. "Wake up, Boromir! Wake! Don't do this; we have to move! Get up! Up, I say!" he shouted, shaking Boromir hard. There was no response.

Pippin stood, looking around in a panic. He knew it was useless, but somehow he couldn't stop himself. "Help!" he cried at the top of his voice, which was quite loud, considering his size. "Somebody! Help! Help!"

But the only reply was white silence.

To Be Continued.