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Sam woke from his sleep and walked over to where the small commotion of noise was coming from. He found the rest of them huddled around Bingo. The shallowed breathing caused Sam to tense.
"What's wrong?" Sam asked immediately as he joined the group. He watched Bingo's face, a wave of concern tingled through his body. He could see in the light that Bingo had been trying to wrap himself up. Realizations hit him before anyone said anything.
Thoughts flew through his head. How where they to treat it? Would he die? He had heard of hobbits breaking their ribs, it punctured the lung and they died in their own blood.
"Do you taste blood, Bingo. It's very important that we know that," Sam interjected, silently praying that the young hobbit didn't. If he did then Sam knew that Bingo would be as likely to survive as a rabbit did in the mouth of a fox. Worse yet was the thought that they would have to be the ones to carry his corpse all the way back to the Shire and tell his parents that they were to blame for the early demise of their son. No, Sam thought to himself, there will be no corpses.
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