Waiting
Boromir knelt in a haze of pain, one hand still grasping his sword. His shield lay on the ground beside him, but even if he yet held it, he doubted he would have the strength to use it. Through his clouded vision, he saw the black crossbow-bolt as the Uruk took aim, and prayed it would fly swiftly and accurately. The seconds as the bolt flew towards him were torturous. Then he felt himself falling backwards with the force of the third bolt as it sent fiery spasms of pain down his arm from where it stood, still trembling, in his shoulder.
A great shout broke vaguely registered in his mind, but his vision was beginning to darken, and he could see nothing. Pulling himself blindly over the ground, he reached a tree and there he rested, waiting for death to overcome him.