Faramir was just about to take a turn and rest when his hand froze. He had heard something. A rustling sound from behind him in the trees. He turned slowly, his heart pounding hard. There were no other sounds around him now but the crackle of the fire and the creak of branches as they swayed in the breeze.
There was nothing there except for the fire and the trees. No movement. Nothing.
He waited, listening intently. Was it possible that someone else had come? Or maybe it was just an animal making its way through the forest? He stared into the shadows along the edge of the clearing, straining to see any sign of movement.
Nothing. Just a few leaves blowing across the ground.
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Still, he stood there waiting. It didn't make sense for anyone to be here with them anyway. The enemy soldiers would have passed by hours ago, on their way back down the mountain. And besides, if anything was out there lurking in the darkness, he knew he wouldn't hear it over the sound of the fire.
But then again... what if it's not an animal? What if that rustling noise was more than just a wind-driven leaf or two...
His mind raced, trying to decide whether to risk turning to face whatever was behind him or whether to move away from the campfire and hide in the cover of the woods and hope that whoever or whatever was out there would go away. But either option seemed dangerous. He didn't want to reveal himself too soon and give his position away before he could assess the situation. At the same time, he didn't want to wait too long and let the situation get worse.
A sudden gust of wind blew through the trees, sending a shower of leaves flying overhead. One landed right in front of him, hitting him square in the forehead and knocking him off balance. He stumbled forward, grabbing at the tree for support and looking up toward where it had fallen.
The leaf was gone. But there was still a dark spot on his head where it had struck.
It was the first clear sign of movement in the woods since he'd stepped outside the campfire circle. He glanced around quickly, wondering what he should do. If it was just some animal, he might be able to scare it off with a loud shout. On the other hand, if it was a soldier hiding in the woods, he didn't want to startle him. So instead of shouting, he took a step closer to the campfire, hoping that if he could see the person who was out there, he could catch a glimpse of something that would tell him how close they were.
He couldn't see anything. Not the slightest hint of movement. His breath caught in his throat. When he looked up again, he saw the same dark patch on his head, only this one was much larger. And there was another one below it.
Before he could react, he felt something cold and slimy squirm under his hand. Then he realized what he was holding.
Shelob, one of Lord Denethor's spiders. The enemy's spider. He had been put in charge of safeguarding her and keeping her away from hurting or biting into anyone. She had crept up on him while he was distracted by the rustling in the woods. Her eight legs twitched rapidly, her abdomen pulsing like a beating heart.
Suddenly, he remembered the warning that Gandalf, the leader had given him about Shelob: "Do not let her touch you. Nor think of her."
As the spider began to climb his arm, he flinched and tried to pull away. But she clung tightly, her fangs buried deep in his flesh. He felt the urge rising within him to scream.
And then he heard the sound of running footsteps approaching from behind him.
Turning, he saw Boromir coming toward the campfire. He was carrying a bow in one hand and a quiver full of arrows in the other.
"What is it?" he asked. "Is someone following us? I thought I saw..."
Then he stopped abruptly.
Boromir's eyes went wide. Even from this distance, he could see the dark mark on Faramir's head made by the leaf. And he saw the second one made by the spider. That was the mark of the enemy. He has been converted and it was no longer safe for Boromir nor the rest of the crew to relate with him. Through the mark, the enemy had access to his subconscious and could make him do anything including giving away their position or leading them right into the traps of the enemy.
This new development needed to be tended to and Boromir took it upon himself to carry it forth.
Furious, he grabbed the bow and nocked an arrow. Without a word, he aimed at the spot where he believed Faramir to be standing.
Faramir felt his stomach lurch. As the arrow left the bow, he began to run.
He raced past Boromir, heading straight for the edge of the campfire. He could feel the heat of the flames burning his bare feet. He reached the edge of the circle, glanced back, and saw the black shape of the arrow entering the ground where he had been standing moments earlier. It had gone right through him, with the pains he knew he had less time to live.
Without slowing, he dove into the brush. He plunged through the brambles, his arms and legs tangled in thorns as he fought to keep his balance. He made it safely to the other side. But he was far from safe. His shirt was torn and covered in blood. There was a gash on his cheek. His leg burned from the blow he'd taken when Shelob had crawled up his body and bit him.
But he kept going, ignoring the pain. At some point, he laid down, and rested his back on whatever amount of tweak of leaves he could find, waiting for death.