Disclaimer: Tolkien’s world of magnificent creation... Kortirion’s little heap of sand.
Faramir shuddered... but barely felt his body move... Rather, he twisted in his mind, seeing images of pain-distorted frigid, empty blackness and agonizing scarlet. There was no direction... no end. Just the sure and certain knowledge that ...something... lurked in the darkness to tear him asunder, one tiny blood-shredded piece at a time... He could not run - could not scream. Could only hear his blood pounding - his labouring breath - harsh in his chest... but... but... a voice!
A gentle, commanding voice, warm with concern, solid with assured governance bid him follow... and the midsummer sun-bright figure led him home.