Bilbo’s breath is heavy and ragged as he rushes through the ranks of Azog’s army.
Iron and steel blades spin chaotically around him with deafening clashes, covering the Hobbit in black and red splatters. His ears ring with shrieks and cries of pain and terror.
Metal weapons roar, armours clink and dent, limp bodies fall to the ground with wet thuds.
The foul smell of blood makes Bilbo light-headed and he often feels the need to cease his wild run and throw up.
But he doesn’t stop and keeps on racing, his feet slipping on the ground coated in thick layers of dark blood and muddy snow.
The Ring on his finger makes everything easier by slowing down time, dulling the bloodcurdling battle sounds and concealing him from the aim of the Orcs.
Despite the fact that he has the great advantage of being invisible and wearing an impenetrable mithril shirt,
he still can’t avoid every swing of the weapons dancing violently around him and he senses the cold tips of the blades grazing him slightly from time to time.
But Bilbo is numb to their burn and he ignores them.
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