The glare of the sun seems even brighter from down here. It spiders out into a star above me, flickering softly. I feel sleepy suddenly, and I forget what I was struggling for. I hear his voice, faraway and muffled but most definitely still his, calling my name. Perhaps I was going to him. It seems like that's all I ever do, all I ever want to do. But for now - sleep. It's overwhelming, the need to close my eyes and just rest, and it feels like a relief when I surrender to it.
WATER.
I remember. Above, under, all around me. I can't breath, an oddly familiar feeling, usually not born out of something this tangible. But this time the feeling is a rather pleasant one, and it doesn't hurt my chest as much. Hobbits don't swim. I know this.
Time stretches. I suppose I should be worried about leaving him to his quest, alone with his burden. But what good, really, is a soggy hobbit? He's probably better off without me. The others will catch up eventually. He's a hero, obviously, he's meant to make it. What am I? A secondary character in his tale. My absence won't weigh them down, quite the opposite. Maybe this is when I bow out, and I suppose it's only right that I hear his voice till the end. Perhaps I'm being punished for wanting to hear only that.
Good luck, Mr. Frodo.
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