After a while, Pippin looked up. He had sunken into the snow bank, and now saw that he barely had any space for air to come into his little cave. "Might as well live as long as I can," he muttered, and lifted his arms to try and make a bigger air hole.
Bad idea.
A pile of snow sitting atop Pippin collapsed on top of him, weighing him down. He gasped, snow filling his mouth as he did so. His arms flailed desperately, trying to dig his way out. But which way was up? Which way was down?
Soon, his head started to hurt form lack of air. His arms grew weak, and he couldn't even attempt to save himself. Finally, he gave up entirely. Everything hurt, or stung, or couldn't be moved. He closed his eyes and waited. This was definitely not how he imagined he would die.
----x--X--x----
"LET ME GO!" Merry jumped forward again. Frodo, Bilbo, the Gaffer, and Sam were all trying to block him from getting to the door.
"I HAVE TO FIND PIPPIN! MOVE!" He lunged forward again, and the other four hobbits could barely hold him back.
"Merry!" Bilbo spoke once Merry's ranting had died down. "We can't have you getting lost as well. I'm sure Pippin will be fine."
Merry struggled a few more moments, and then went limp, collapsing into Sam's arms. Sam lifted him and started to walk him over to the fireplace. He sat him down in front of it. "Now, Mr. Merry, you stay here, and I'll grab some extra blankets." With that, the hobbit ran off.
Merry didn't move. He simply stared into the fire. "Please," he murmured. "Let him be okay."
----x--X--x----
Pippin was almost gone. His muscles had gone cold, he could barely breath, and his eyes were closed. It was becoming agonizing, waiting for his heart to give, or his brain, or something. He gave a final, weak struggle, but lost. He became still again, and waited.
Suddenly, he thought he heard something. Like scratching. Was he hearing things?
But the noise continued. Before his oxygen-deprived brain had time to think of what it might be, he felt wind rushing through his hair. He lifted his head and took a deep breath of air.
It made his lungs sting, and his throat burned even worse, but it was air. Pure, sweet air. The scratching continued, and he felt his body being freed, but he was too exhausted to open his eyes.
He felt something dig into the back of his cloak and pull his body loose, out of the snow bank. He rolled over, coughing and spitting snow. Finally, he looked up, and jumped back in fright.
A large, black dog, it's hair short and matted. It was taller than him, even though it was just sitting. Around its neck was a silver medallion inscribed with strange markings that Pippin's weak eyes couldn't identify. He stared into the dog's eyes. They were a deep red, and Pippin felt like he was staring straight into a fire, and could almost feel its warmth.
Then he remembered it was a dog.
He struggled backwards, his weak muscles pulling him away.
"D-d-don't eat m-me!" he pleaded, weakly. "G-g-go away!"
The dog cocked it's head to the side. Pippin stared at it a moment. Wait, was it…smiling? That was the strangest thing he'd ever seen a dog do.
"Now, why would I want ta eat ya, darlin'?"
Correction. That was the strangest thing he'd ever seen, or heard, a dog do.