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Short, Occasionally Sweet - Gwynnyd's Drabbles  by Gwynnyd

Aragorn will not rest while the wizard sleeps, preferring to face the utter darkness awake. Gandalf tires at last and the staff that lit their way goes out. The dark presses in; palpable, cold and damp. The Hobbits, Frodo’s daylight dignity forgotten, sleep tumbled like puppies, huddling warmth. The elf, lost in dreams, is no company. Gimli’s soft snore is unmistakable. Boromir wanted to share the watch and propped himself sitting upright against the walls. He succumbs to sleep, mumbling assurances of alertness at need. Aragorn, still wary and sleepless, listens for the orcs, for the sounds of stealthy feet.





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