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Frodo wiped his mouth, gasping over the basin. Three mornings in a row now. He wondered if he was eating something that disagreed terribly with him. The cheese he often had with his breakfast roll? He hoped not. The cheese to be had in Minas Tirith was better than any he had ever tasted. His stomach rolled again. Suddenly the pale yellow wedges that he cheerfully placed on his bread seemed utterly repulsive.
"Ugh," he said, closing his eyes. "Never again."
He leaned over the basin again, swallowing desperately. Yet another morning of not being able to keep anything down.