Touch (Part 2 of 5)
Heart pounding painfully in his chest, Pippin staggers through thick grass, urged onward by Orcish whips. Brambles scratch and clutch at his ankles like the claws of the damned. His lungs burn as he struggles for breath he cannot catch.
He would give anything for a mug of water; ice cold water, to soothe his cracked, bleeding lips, and smother the fire in his throat. Water, like the rivers he and Merry would swim in on a hot summer’s day…
Merry! He searches the throng around him for his cousin, in vain. His pace slows; a whip snaps at his heels.
Pippin trudges on, almost looking forward to his certain death.