3.
The flames of the small fire do not reach very high and there is not much warmth emanating from it. Though the fire is not very big, I worry that it will be spotted and that orcs will find me; I cannot stay long in this place, I have to get moving. I had hoped to be able to let at least my cloak dry, yet now it looks as though that will no longer be an option. Would these lands ever be free of orcs and goblins, was it even possible to hunt down every last one of them until they became extinct? They are as a plague, sweeping across the lands destroying any living thing in their path. A plague for which the only cure is to hunt them down and kill them. Kill them just as they would joyfully kill us. The very thought of such an act makes me ill, they are living creatures who inhabit this land just as Elves, Hobbits, Men, Dwarves and countless other things do. How can exterminating them be any better than what they would gladly do to every last one of those races…is there even another choice? Surely there is another option, complete extinction cannot be the only way to deal with these beings, how can that be the correct answer?
These thoughts are merely a few among the myriad of others which plagued my mind, even after the fire was extinguished and I attempted to rest for the night. Foremost among my thoughts were those of the rest of the Fellowship, worry about what had become of them and the cold dread that I had saved Aragorn's life only to have him die while he was distracted with my death. Had all that I done, been in vain?
The sun seemed to become hotter over the next few days. The terrain was changing, changing from the rolling and rocky hills of Rohan, to hills covered in long brown grass. This new land was not welcoming. There was absolutely nothing as far as the eye could see, except for hills covered in brown grass. Not a tree or bit of scrub in sight. As far as I could see in any direction—save the one I came from—every plant was brown and lifeless, there was nothing but that one uninterrupted color…brown. Brown the color of death. There was no sound, no birds, no insects; no rustling of small animals through the grass, there was only the sound of wind through the grass.
The farther I venture into this land of dead plants and heat, the more a thought grows in my mind. A thought that this is wrong and I should not be here. This cannot be the way to Minas Tirith…can it?
The terrain is never changing; always the same rolling hills shrouded in dead brown grass, grass that waves in the wind and hides the evidence of my passage through these lands. The days wear on and I begin to feel drained, I have less and less energy each day, even with proper rest. Time begins to lose all meaning, one day blurs into the next. Each night I collapse onto the ground, laying there until morning when the sun rises once more. The sun sends its intense-blistering heat across the hills. There is no shade, no reprieve from the sun and I must keep moving…I must reach Minas Tirith.
On the sixth day since entering these lands I had already been walking for hours, felt the relentless heat upon my skin, when something inside me broke. Though I knew something had changed inside me…something was gone leaving me feeling somehow emptier, I knew not what it was. Yet I did not have time to reflect upon what it might have been, for the instant that it happened, I collapsed onto the hot ground and knew nothing but darkness.
Night fell on the world and none but the moon saw the figures creeping across the land towards the lone figure lying in the long grass. An argument took place once the figures reached their destination and was only settled when one picked the lone figure from the ground and took off across the hills, leaving the others to follow in silence. They had taken the lone figure, had left all that it was carrying behind, left it in the grass. They did not once stop in their haste to reach their destination, seeming to fly over the many leagues which they traveled before the sun began to rise. The figures reached a cave which was hidden by the terrain, only those who knew it was there—or else accidentally stumbled into it—were able to get inside it. One by one they slipped inside, the last figure obscured the entrance further before joining its brethren as they traveled deep inside the cave to a place that they knew was far enough in that there would be no chance of either escape for their prisoner, or of being found by anyone who happened to pass by and hear the echoed whispers of voice emanating from the seemingly solid hill.
My apologies about the wait and the relative shortness of the chapter, I assure you that soon the chapters will be longer and hopefully the wait will be shorter. Thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoy. You guys are amazing.
