Beneath the Boughs: Forest Free RP

For Fangorn is old, old even as the Elves would reckon it.
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Ent Ancient
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“Aye, aye, there was all one wood once upon a time from here to the Mountains of Lune, and this was just the East End. Those were the broad days! Time was when I could walk and sing all day and hear no more than an echo in my own voice in the hollow hills. The woods were like the woods of Lothlórien, only thicker, stronger, younger. And the smell of the air! I used to spend a week just breathing.
- (Treebeard) Chapter 4, Treebeard, The Two Towers


As Treebeard tells Merry and Pippin, there was once a great forest that spread from Fangorn westward to the Blue Mountains. Many of those woods were cut down by Men or destroyed by Sauron in the Second Age. Before the Drowning of Beleriand at the end of the First Age, there were also many forests, large and small, scattered across the landscape.

Ents, elves, dwarves and men have dwelt in or around, or traveled to, these forests throughout the ages. Here you may explore them as any of those (or other) peoples or other creatures in the following locations (or others you invent).

Fangorn Forest

Home to Ents and huorns in the Third Age, Fangorn lies southeast of the Misty Mountains. It used to be part of a much larger forest including a connection to Lothlórien. Ents guard and care for ash, beech, birch, chestnut, fir, linden, oak, rowan, and willows that grow here.

Derndingle: the bowl-shaped valley where Entmoots take place
Wellinghall: Treebeard’s home in the southern forest at the headwaters of the Entwash
River Entwash: crosses the forest to Rohan, its water are used to make Ent-draughts
Treebeard’s Hill: stony hill with a view over the forest
River Limlight: passes through the northern forest
Quickbeam's house: a mossy stone surrounded by rowan trees
Elinmead*: a meadow in the woods prime for stargazing
Ditherdell*: a deep, misty valley of twists and turns with thick undergrowth
Fern Falls*: a cascade in the foothills of the Misty Mountains

Doriath
In the First Age, it was a large forest and Kingdom in central Beleriand through which the River Sirion flows. It encompasses smaller woodlands and forests of oak, beech and holly bounded by rivers.

(Map of Doriath)


Region: holly dominate this southern portion of the Kingdom of Doriath wherein lies Menegroth
Neldoreth (or Taur-na-Neldor): in northern Doriath, beech trees flourish between the Esgalduin and Mindeb Rivers where Beren first saw Lúthien
Brethil: a dark, dense woodland in western Doriath (later granted to the Haladin) lying between the Taeglin and Sirion Rivers. After the Flooding of Beleriand, Tol Morwen remained as an island.
Nivrim: oak trees on the west bank of the River Sirion

Other Forests of Beleriand


(Map of Beleriand)


Nan Elmoth: east of Doriath, the trees here grew tallest and darkest in Beleriand
Nimbrethil: a coastal birchwood on the Bay of Balar’s northern shore in Arvernien
Núath: in northern Beleriand, the source of the River Glinglith (not on map)
Taur-en-Faroth: wooded hills in west Beleriand on the west side of the River Narog within the Realm of Nargothrond
Taur-im-Duinath: between the Sirion and Gelion Rivers in southern Beleriand, said to be dark and gloomy
Taur-nu-Fuin (or Dorthonion): a dark and evil highland pine forest in northern Beleriand corrupted by Morgoth
Nan-tathren: the land of willows where the River Narog meets the River Sirion

Locations marked with a * are non-canon originals. Please feel free to build and expand upon these. No one owns them, we all do!

Rules
- ALL characters/races are welcome!
- This thread has no dedicated timeline. Feel free to play in any age/year and label if appropriate for your story.
- Label your location. RP is not limited to those listed above - feel free to play somewhere in between or another of your choosing or imagining. If you want to write in another canon forest setting, go ahead, but remember there may be other threads that cover those areas already.
- Please mark the top of your posts as Open (other RPers are welcome to join in) or Closed/Private (on your own or with another player either pre-arranged or one you meet along the way and choose to run a story with). If you want to join in with someone or are looking for a partner, please use the OOC thread or RP Request Form.
- Canon Characters: All canon characters are open to everyone. If it happens that two people want to write the same canon character, they are free to do so; all duplicates will be considered as existing in different universes and not interfering with each other, unless otherwise agreed upon by the players. (Rule courtesy of @Moriel)
- Content Warnings to be used at the discretion of the writer, bold and placed at the top of the post.
- OOC is fine here if marked (no need to white out) or in the OOC thread, up to you.
- Please no bright/light colors. Small pictures only, please.
Last edited by Lail on Sun Jul 10, 2022 12:46 am, edited 1 time in total.

Ent Ancient
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Joined: Sat May 23, 2020 11:34 pm
“Time was when a squirrel could go from tree to tree from what is now the Shire to Dunland west of Isengard. In those lands I journeyed once, and many things wild and strange I knew.”
- (Elrond), Chapter 2, The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

Fangorn
Fangorn was also called the Entwood by the Rohirrim and several Quenya names used by Treebeard: Ambaróna, Aldalómë, Tauremorna and Tauremornalómë. Pippin described Fangorn as “dim and stuffy” and Merry said it did “not look or feel at all like Bilbo’s descriptions of Mirkwood. That was all dark and black, and the home of dark black things. This is just dim, and frightfully tree-ish. You can’t imagine animals living here at all, or staying for long.” (Chapter 4, Treebeard, The Two Towers)

And I walk in Ambaróna, in Tauremorna, in Aldalómë.
In my own land, in the country of Fangorn,
Where the roots are long,
And the years lie thicker than the leaves
In Tauremornalómë.
- (Treebeard), Chapter 4, Treebeard, The Two Towers

‘...and cross the Entwash before it finds the marshes. Yet they should not go too far up that stream, nor risk becoming entangled in the Forest of Fangorn. That is a strange land and now little is known. But Boromir and Aragorn doubtless do need heed this warning.’
‘Indeed we have heard of Fangorn in Minas Tirith,’ said Boromir. ‘But what I have heard seems to me for the most part old wives’ tales, such as we tell to our children. All that lies north of Rohan is now to us so far away that fancy can wander freely there. Of old Fangorn lay upon the borders of our realm; but it is now many lives of men since any of us visited it, to prove or disprove the legends that have come down from distant years.’
- (Celeborn, Boromir), Chapter 8, Farewell to Lorien, The Fellowship of the Ring

‘You have journeyed further than I,’ said Legolas. ‘I have heard nothing of this in my own land, save only songs that tell how the Onodrim, that Men call Ents, dwelt there long ago; for Fangorn is old, old even as the Elves would reckon it.’
‘Yes, it is old,’ said Aragorn, ‘as old as the forest by the Barrow-downs, and it is far greater. Elrond says that the two are akin, the last strongholds of the mighty woods of the Elder Days, in which the Firstborn roamed while Men still slept. Yet Fangorn holds some secret of its own. What it is I do not know.’
- Chapter 2, The Riders of Rohan, The Two Towers

The Derndingle
...they came at last to what looked like an impenetrable wall of dark evergreen trees, trees of a kind that the hobbits had never seen before: they branched out right from the roots, and were densely clad in dark glossy leaves like thornless holly, and they bore many stiff upright flower-spikes with large shining olive-coloured buds.

Turning to the left and skirting this huge hedge Treebeard came in a few strides to a narrow entrance. Through it a worn path passed and dived suddenly down a long steep slope. The hobbits saw that they were descending into a great dingle, almost as round as a bowl, very wide and deep, crowned at the rim with the high dark evergreen hedge. It was smooth and grassclad inside, and there were no trees except three very tall and beautiful silver-birches that stood at the bottom of the bowl.
- Chapter 4, Treebeard, The Two Towers

Quickbeam’s house
...nothing more than a mossy stone set upon turves under a green bank. Rowan-trees grew in a circle about it, and there was water (as in all ent-houses), a spring bubbling out from the bank.
- Chapter 4, Treebeard, The Two Towers

Treebeard’s Hill
The ground was rising steeply still, and it was becoming increasingly stony. ... there was a rock-wall before them: the side of a hill, or the abrupt end of some long root thrust out by the distant mountains. No trees grew on it, and the sun was falling full on its stony face. (...)

In the face of the stony wall there was something like a stair: natural perhaps, and made by the weathering and splitting of the rock, for it was rough and uneven. High up, almost level with the tops of forest-trees, there was a shelf under a cliff. Nothing grew there but a few grasses and weeds at its edge, and one old stump of a tree with only two bent branches left: it looked almost like the figure of some gnarled old man, standing there, blinking in the morning-light.
- Chapter 4, Treebeard, The Two Towers

Wellinghall
Two great trees stood there, one on either side, like living gate-posts; but there was no gate save their crossing and interwoven boughs. As the old Ent approached, the trees lifted up their branches, and all their leaves quivered and rustled. For they were evergreen trees, and their leaves were dark and polished, and gleamed in the twilight. Beyond them was a wide level space, as though the floor of a great hall had been cut in the side of the hill. On either hand the walls sloped upwards, until they were fifty feet high or more, and along each wall stood an aisle of trees that also increased in height as they marched inwards.

At the far end the rock-wall was sheer, but at the bottom it had been hollowed back into a shallow bay with an arched roof: the only roof of the hall, save the branches of the trees, which at the inner end overshadowed all the ground leaving only a broad open path in the middle. A little stream escaped from the springs above, and leaving the main water, fell tinkling down the sheer face of the wall, pouring in silver drops, like a fine curtain in front of the arched bay. The water was gathered again into a stone basin in the floor between the trees, and thence it spilled and flowed away beside the open path, out to rejoin the Entwash in its journey through the forest.
- Chapter 4, Treebeard, The Two Towers

Ents
And as they climbed the long slopes beneath Mount Dolmed there came forth the Shepherds of the Trees, and they drove the Dwarves into the shadowy woods of Ered Lindon: whence, it is said, came never one to climb the high passes that led to their homes.
- Chapter 22, Of the Ruin of Doriath, The Silmarillion

“They found they were looking at a most extraordinary face. It belonged to a Man-like, almost Troll-like, figure, at least fourteen foot high, very sturdy with a tall head, and hardly any neck. Whether it was clad in stuff like green and grey bark, or whether it was its hide, was difficult to say. At any rate the arms, at a short distance from the trunk, were not wrinkled, but covered with a smooth brown skin. The large feet had seven toes each. The lower part of the long face was covered with a sweeping grey beard, bushy, almost twiggy at the roots, thin and mossy at the ends. But at the moment the hobbits noted little but the eyes. These deep eyes were now surveying them, slow and solemn, but very penetrating. They were brown, shot with a green light.”
- Chapter 4, Treebeard, The Two Towers

“Some of us are still true Ents, and lively enough in our fashion, but many are growing sleepy, going tree-ish, as you might say. Most of the trees are just trees, of course; but many are half awake. Some are quite wide awake, and a few are well, getting Entish. That is going on all the time.
‘When that happens to a tree, you find that some have bad hearts. (...) That sort of thing seems to spread. There used to be some very dangerous parts in this country. There are still some very black patches. (...)
‘There are hollow dales in this land where the Darkness has never lifted, and the trees are older than I am. Still, we do what we can. We keep off strangers and the foolhardy; and we train and we teach, we walk and we weed.’
- (Treebeard), Chapter 4, Treebeard, The Two Towers

‘Only three remain of the first Ents that walked in the woods before the Darkness: only myself, Fangorn, and Finglas and Fladrif -- to give them their Elvish names; you may call them Leaflock and Skinbark if you like that better. And of us three, Leaflock and Skinbark are not much use for this business. Leaflock has grown sleepy, almost tree-ish, you might say: he has taken to standing by himself half-asleep all through the summer with the deep grass of the meadows round his knees. Covered with leafy hair he is. He used to rouse up in the winter; but of late he has been too drowsy to walk far even then. Skinbark lived on the mountain-slopes west of Isengard. That is where the worst trouble has been. He was wounded by the Orcs, and many of his folk and his tree-herds have been murdered and destroyed. He has gone up into the high places, among the birches that he loves best, and he will not come down.”
- (Treebeard) Treebeard, The Two Towers

Doriath
Southward lay the guarded woods of Doriath, abode of Thingol the Hidden King, into whose
realm none passed save by his will. Its northern and lesser part, the Forest of Neldoreth, was
bounded east and south by the dark river Esgalduin, which bent westward in the midst of the land; and between Aros and Esgalduin lay the denser and greater woods of Region. Upon the southern bank of Esgalduin, where it turned westward towards Sirion, were the Caves of Menegroth; and all Doriath lay east of Sirion save for a narrow region of woodland between the meeting of Teiglin and Sirion and the Meres of Twilight. By the people of Doriath this wood was called Nivrim, the West March; great oak-trees grew there, and it also was encompassed within the Girdle of Melian, that so some portion of Sirion which she loved in reverence of Ulmo should be wholly under the power of Thingol.
- Chapter 14, Of Beleriand and its Realms, The Silmarillion

Neldoreth (or Taur-na-Neldor)
Not far from the gates of Menegroth stood the greatest of all the trees in the Forest of Neldoreth; and that was a beech-forest and the northern half of the kingdom. This mighty beech was named Hírilorn, and it had three trunks, equal in girth, smooth in rind, and exceeding tall; no branches grew from them for a great height above the ground. Far aloft between the shafts of Hírilorn a wooden house was built, and there Lúthien was made to dwell; and ladders were taken away and guarded, save only when the servants of Thingol wrought her such things as she needed.
- Chapter 19, Of Beren and Lúthien, The Silmarillion

Other forests of Beleriand
Nan Elmoth
In that wood in ages past Melian walked in the twilight of Middle-earth when the trees were
young, and enchantment lay upon it still. But now the trees of Nan Elmoth were the tallest and
darkest in all Beleriand, and there the sun never came; and there Eöl dwelt, who was named the
Dark Elf.
- Chapter 16, Of Maeglin, The Silmarillion

Nimbrethil
With the aid of Círdan Eärendil built Vingilot, the Foam-flower, fairest of the ships of
song; golden were its oars and white its timbers, hewn in the birchwoods of Nimbrethil, and its sails were as the argent moon.
- Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath, The Silmarilion

Núath
Despite the shelter of the hills the winds were strong and bitter, and soon the snow lay deep upon the heights, or whirled through the passes, and fell upon the woods of Núath ere the full-shedding of their withered leaves.
- Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin, Unfinished Tales

Taur-en-Faroth
Narog came through these hills in a deep gorge, and flowed over rapids that had no fall, and on its western bank the land rose into the great wooded highlands of Taur-en-Faroth.
- Chapter 14, Of Beleriand and its Realms, The Silmarillion

Taur-im-Duinath
But south of the Andram, between Sirion and Gelion, was a wild land of tangled forest in which no folk went, save here and there a few Dark Elves wandering; Taur-im-Duinath it was named, the Forest between the Rivers.
- Chapter 14, Of Beleriand and its Realms

Upon Amon Ereb they maintained a watch and some strength of war, and they had aid of the Green-elves; and the Orcs came not into Ossiriand, nor to Taur-im-Duinath and the wilds of the south
- Chapter 18, Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin, The Silmarillion

Taur-nu-Fuin (also Dorthonion, Deldúwath, Taur-nu-Fuin, The Forest under Nightshade)
...all the forest of the northward slopes of that land was turned little by little into a region of such dread and dark enchantment that even the Orcs would not enter it unless need drove them, and it was called Deldúwath, and Taur-nu-Fuin, The Forest under Nightshade. The trees that grew there after the burning were black and grim, and their roots were tangled, groping in the dark like claws; and those who strayed among them became lost and blind, and were strangled or pursued to madness by phantoms of terror.
- Chapter 18, Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin, The Silmarillion

South of Ard-galen the great highland named Dorthonion stretched for sixty leagues from west to east; great pine forests it bore, especially on its northern and western sides. By gentle slopes from the plain it rose to a bleak and lofty land, where lay many tarns at the feet of bare tors whose heads were higher than the peaks of Ered Wethrin; but southward where it looked towards Doriath it fell suddenly in dreadful precipices....
- Chapter 14, Of Beleriand and its Realms, The Silmarillion

Now the forest of Dorthonion rose southward into mountainous moors; and in the east of those highlands there lay a lake, Tarn Aeluin, with wild heaths about it, and all that land was pathless and untamed, for even in the days of the Long Peace none had dwelt there.
- Chapter 19, Of Beren and Lúthien, The Silmarillion

Nan-tathren (or Nan-tasarion)
And the River Narog rose in the falls of Ivrin in the southern face of Dor-lómin, and flowed some eighty leagues ere he joined Sirion in Nan-tathren, the Land of Willows. South of Nan-tathren was a region of meads filled with many flowers, where few folk dwelt; and beyond lay the marshes and isles of reed about the mouths of Sirion, and the sands of his delta empty of all living things save birds of the sea.
- Chapter 14, Of Beleriand and its Realms, The Silmarillion

Yet fairest of all are the willows of Nan-tathren, pale green, or silver in the wind, and the rustle of their innumerable leaves is a spell of music: day and night would flicker by uncounted, while still I stood knee-deep in grass and listened. There I was enchanted, and forgot the Sea in my heart.'
- Of Tuor And His Coming To Gondolin, Unfinished Tales

Black Númenórean
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Under the Same Sky
Eryn Hîn

(Private)

“Kula! It’s time. Are you ready?”

Kula either ignored or did not hear the summons - they were far too busy splashing about in a little puddle left by the morning rain near their favorite leaf bed. Eyes closed, they spun in a circle, enjoying how the cool water felt swirling about their legs. The spinning was not without consequence: Kula stopped and, dizzy and giddy, staggered comically to and fro for several moments. Unable to regain their balance, they finally plopped down in the water and laughed.

Kula!” Maca’s little voice sounded annoyed now.

“Oh no!” Kula whispered, struggling to their feet. They scurried up and over one of the Great Deku Tree’s long, sinuous roots as fast as their little legs would carry them - which is to say, not very fast at all.

“Yes! Yes! All ready, Maca! I’m sorry for being late.”

“Good,” said Maca. They smiled indulgently at their soaking wet patrol partner through a yellow leaf-mask. “Let’s go.”

The two taurhîn ambled along the big path lined with little lanterns, which led from the mouth of the Great Deku Tree through the Eryn Hîn and out into the wider world of the Ditherdell. The lanterns, fashioned in the shape of heavy, luminous beans hanging from sturdy vines, seemed to bow courteously to them as they went. Kula glanced this way and that, inwardly greeting all the trees they knew by heart as they passed them by, waving every now and then to a familiar taurhên going about their morning business. Kula’s gaze trailed along after butterflies and birds winging their way among the trees and the blue blooming brethil dínen. Of course, they kept an occasional eye out for Maca, just to be sure they were still on the right path and had not been separated from their more experienced patrol partner. Gradually, the sounds of the comings and goings in their cozy corner of the forest faded until Kula heard only occasional insect noises, the wind in the trees, and the merry sound of wooden chimes which accompanied all taurhîn movements.

“Ooh, it’s quiet,” Kula murmured, more to themself than to Maca.

Kula counted all the beanstalk lanterns they passed as the pair progressed toward the Lost Woods. So far, they had seen twelve. Gradually, the space between the lights lengthened until, once they had seen eighteen, they walked for an hour or more without seeing the next one. Was there a next one? Kula could not remember. The sun was setting and golden beams of sunlight fell upon the trees and the path, making it all look like autumn in spite of the humid summer season. The dust motes and little flying insects caught in the beams of light glistened with a nostalgic sheen. Kula stopped to look up into the canopy of leaves above and giggled happily.

“How many lanterns light the way, again?” they asked, hurrying again to catch up with Maca.

“Twenty-six,” Maca answered.

“Right.”

So many more! thought Kula. When will we see number nineteen? If they recalled their first and only previous patrol correctly, there was a lovely little pond near the twenty-third lantern, which they desperately hoped to splash in again. In the meantime, they wandered through hollow fallen logs and hopped through tall grasses to look at all the mushrooms and radishes sprouting hale and hearty from the damp earth. This was the joy in venturing out! So many wonderful sights and smells and feelings to be savored before the confounding, ever-present mists crept in from the Taur Laeth. When the stars emerged as night began to fall, their twinkling lights served as a shield against all worry for Kula.

The path led the two taurhîn up along a ridge in the land. Trees grew on it, below it, and many even sprouted out from the near-vertical sides of the ridge, clinging stubbornly to rock and loose dirt even as they reached their boughs toward the sky. If Kula looked back north, they could see the top of the Great Deku Tree standing tall above the Eryn Hîn. If they looked south, they saw a tangle of looming, crouching trees with boughs like grasping arms and hollows like anguished faces. The misty, desolate expanse of the Taur Laeth encircled their tiny home forest on all sides, both protecting them from outside intruders and hedging in the taurhîn to a tiny piece of the world.

The pair of patrollers paused to face homeward and bowed their inflexible little bodies, a gesture of respect for the Great Deku Tree. Then they turned to the south. The sun sank behind the mountains away to the west, and darkness slowly swept across all parts of the forest.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Balrog
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The Forest Path
Fangorn, TA 500


“I don’t want to be Gothmog again!”

“That’s too bad, I am the oldest; you have to do what I say. Memaw and Papa said so!”

“Just two years! It’s not fair.”

“It’s absolutely fair, now you’re Gothmog and I’m Ecthelion, and I’m gonna kill you!”

The small child screamed and shrank to the ground, covering his face and head with tiny, dirt-stained hands. His sister stood over him, large stick in hand, ready to clobber him. He too had a stick, but it was tossed down on the ground in favor of the fetal position. He was small for his age, a tiny six and three-quarters young boy with dirty blonde hair and big green eyes. His sister, contrarywise, was large for her age; she was already almost as tall as their mother with muscled shoulders from working the field with her father. She was a bully, but a sisterly bully was something different from an unrelated bully. Bystanders might stop an unrelated bully from hurting someone, but a related bully? Well, that was either no one’s business or just childish roughhousing.

“Trina, please.” The little boy was weeping now, curled up into the tightest ball he could to escape and defend himself.

“Oh my god! You are such a little baby!” Trina threw down her play sword, making sure to throw it as close as possible to her little brother without actually hitting him.

He uncurled after a while, certain that his terrifying banshee of a sister had indeed left him alone. Sometimes she liked to hide behind the woodpile and jump out and tackle him. Trina was a mean old bat sometimes. She didn’t use to be. Before Mama and Da started working for that rich fellow , Trina was the best sister he could have asked for. She was nice, told him stories, helped him with his drawings, made his little toys to play make-believe with. Now, Trina acted as though she hated him. Did she hate him? He didn’t want her to hate him. What had he done wrong? He loved his sister and wanted to make her happy, but she was always so mad.

She wasn’t behind the woodpile. He breathed a sigh of relief. Just two more days until Memaw and Papa came back from their trip to the nearby town. They’d come to visit when Mama and Da had to stay longer at Mr. Steelshanks’ field. He hadn’t seen them in a week now. He didn’t like them being gone so long. Why did they have to be gone so long? Why was everything so bad?

The sky was a blank grey. He could feel the sun and see a little of its outline, but from horizon to horizon, there was nothing but plain, sad grey. It was getting colder too. Autumn. He liked autumn for the leaves and the pumpkins and the apple cider. He didn’t like the cold. It seeped into their home and into his blankets. Used to, he would snuggle up with his big sister; they’d keep each other warm under a giant pile of blankets, but now she called him a baby for wanted to huddle for warmth. He shivered alone in his bed. He had a stuffed rabbit once, but it had gone missing.

He shivered. It was really getting cold. It was hard to believe it was only noon. The light was weak and blah that he almost thought it was twilight.

The forest loomed like a giant creeping bush.

There was green, then there was Fangorn green. It was a scary green, a green that, if you squinted, looked more like black. Some sounds occasionally came out of the forest too. Sounds that made him very unhappy and anxious. Animals were rare in the forest; most of them lived in the surrounding fields and hills. The sounds that came out of Fangorn were not animals.

“I bet you’re too chicken to go in there.” Trina appeared behind and grabbed him by the shoulders. He yelped and jumped, causing her to burst out in a cruel stream of laughter. “Such a baby.”

“I am not a baby! I’m six and three quarters! I’m not scared.”

“You are so scared, you’re a scared little baby who’s too scared to go climb a tree in there.”

“I am not scared!” he yelled, his temper flaring. It only provoked her to laugh even more.

“If you’re not scared, then go in there and bring out an apple. I dare you, you little fraidy cat.”

“Mama and Da said never go into the forest without an adult,” he said, trying to sound reasonable.

“I knew it, chicken.” She smacked the back of his head and began to walk off.

“I am not a chicken!” he yelled, fat tears welling in his eyes. Why was his sister so mean? “I’ll go if you go.” He added just as she was about to turn the corner into their little cottage.

That stopped her. “Fine,” was all she said. She disappeared into the house. He was about to follow her inside when she came back out with her coat. “Let’s go.”

“Can I get a coat too? It’s getting cold.”

“No.” she rolled her eyes and started down to the edge of the forest. He hesitated. He really wanted a coat, but if he didn’t follow her there was no telling what she would do to him. Calling him names would only be the start. He grabbed the stick she’d given him to play “elf and balrog” with and followed her. Whatever was in that forest, he didn’t want to be unprepared. Trina only scoffed when he suggested that she carry one too. “I’m not a baby. I don’t need a stick.”

They stopped at the edge of the forest. It loomed over them like a giant verdant wave. The trees were dark and gnarled, twisted around and over each other. It was an impenetrable wall of wood, thorns, and leaves. He wanted to turn back.

“Chickening out already?” her voice was callous and sharp. She used her coat to push aside branches, creating a hole just big enough for her to crawl through. Resigned, he followed her. The tree branches were thick and strong; the bark was hard and scraped against his skin in the most uncomfortable way. By the time they made it through the wall of trees, he was scratched in a dozen different places, his face smeared with dirt.

“You look like one of the Woses,” Trina said after he tried to brush all the leaves and twigs off him.

“Do not!”

“Do so, now stop being a baby and come on. I’m tired of waiting for you.”

“I’m not being a baby,” he muttered. She didn’t hear him, which was a good thing because she’d probably smack him if she did.

They plodded through underbrush so thick it felt like quicksand. Each step made him feel like he was about to sink into the ground and never come out again. He had a less difficult time than his sister, using his sword-stick to help pull himself out. He snickered to himself. He’d been clever to bring the stick. Trina was kvetching ahead of him, saying all sorts of words and phrases he didn’t understand but knew meant she was wrathful.

Then, the underbrush just fell away. There was a path.

There shouldn’t have been a path. No one ever went into Fangorn. Mama and Da told them so. Told them never to go into the forest because no one goes in. But there was a path. They’d told them all sort of scary stories about boys and girls that went into the forest and never came out again. But there was a path. They told them under no circumstances should they go into the forest. There were things in there that didn’t like people. But there was a path.

“Trina…” he said, his eyes wide as teacups. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to get on the path. There was something weird about it. Something that didn’t feel right. Their parents had told them no one goes into the forest.

“Come on, you whiny little…” she trailed off and walked onto the path. He wasn’t sure what he was expected, but it wasn’t that. She set foot on the path nothing happened. He thought the earth might crack open or maybe a trap would spring or something. But nothing happened. He was taken aback. What if it was just a path? Tentatively, he climbed down from the underbrush and onto the hardpacked dirt pathway. He thought it might have been squishy, filled with worms or something. But it was just hard dirt. He bent over and touched it. It was cold and wet. The dirt was dark, very dark. It would make wonderful soil, he thought. He clawed a handful of the stuff and put it in his pocket. Perhaps his Da would appreciate it. He ran to catch up with his sister.

“Where do you think this path leads?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful.

“How should I know?” was all she said, she didn’t even look at him.

He felt sad. He thought maybe this adventure would bring them closer, the mystery of the path, the scariness of the forest. But he’d been wrong. There was a tightness in his chest. Why couldn’t things just go back to the way they had been?

Something moved behind him. He heard the sound of a tree branch falling. He whirled around, ready to face… nothing. But there had been a sound. He looked all around, but there was nothing. No animals, no people. Just trees. So many trees. Had that tree by the path always loomed like that? He wasn’t sure.

They walked for a very long time. His stomach growled. Trina didn’t say anything.

“Trina…” he ventured after more time passed, “do you know where we are?”

She didn’t say anything for a while. He thought maybe she was ignoring him again or hadn’t heard him. “No,” she said finally, “I don’t.”

He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a very bad thing. That she was just as lost as he made him feel better, but that neither of them in which way they were going made him feel even worse.

“Maybe we should turn around?” he suggested, praying that she’d agree.

“No. We have to keep going. We can’t turn back.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so; because this path has to lead out. It has to.”

He didn’t want to disagree with her, but he very much did. There was a strange path in the middle of Fangorn Forest, a path that shouldn’t be there to begin with; there was no reason it would lead out. It would lead in if anything. They should turn around. He stopped and looked back the way they’d come. It looked like a tunnel, with the trees overhanging so much. It was spooky. He was could feel his stomach rumbling from more than just hunger. What time was it? Surely it was getting late now. How long had they been walking? He wanted to turn back so bad! He took a step. Then turned back around. His sister had not stopped, she was still moving forward, into whatever was on the other end of the path. He didn’t want to find out what was there. But he didn’t want his sister getting lost either. He groaned and took off after his sister.

They walked for another long amount of time in silence. Each time he tried to bring up something, she shut him down or ignored him. He could something was wrong though. Her face was all gray with worry and concern. She was lost. They were lost. But she was not going to admit it. Not to him, the little baby.

“Trina,” he said again for what felt the hundredth time. “I don’t like it here. I think we should turn back and go home. It’s almost dark. I don’t want to be out here when it’s dark. It’s scary in here. I think the trees are moving.”

“You can go back if you want, little baby. I’m going to find out what’s on the other side of this path. I’m going to be brave. You can go home, chicken.”

“Trina, I’m not a chicken! Stop calling me that.”

“Bwak, bwak, bwak,” she made the chicken sound and began to hop around from one leg to the other imitating a stupid chicken. “Chicken.” She stopped abruptly and gave him a look so cold and mean before turned around to continue walking that he thought she might actually be a different person. His sister was mean, but that look…

There was a sound ahead. Not the sound of trees moving, which he was sure he’d seen several times. It was not the sound of animals either. It was… drums? Voices? He wasn’t sure. He raced to his sister’s side, momentarily forgetting that she seemed to hate him now, and hugged her. She didn’t push him away for a good few seconds. She did though, eventually, and shoved him at that.

“What’s that sound?” he whispered, suddenly wary of being heard.

“How should I know?” Trina was not worried about the same thing, apparently. “Come on, let’s get a better look and give me that stick.” She grabbed his stick right from his hand before he could protest. He whimpered. “Shut up, and follow me, or stay here and getting eaten by one of your moving trees.”

Having no recourse, he went forward with her, moving into a position behind her. The sounds grew louder. The sun was setting out in the world. The shadows lengthened and came alive. There was something very bad happening ahead of them, he could feel it. He tried pulling on Trina’s sleeve, to slow her down, she didn’t even turn around to smack him, just shook him free and continued walking. He didn’t want to follow, but he did. Soon the forest was as black as midnight. There were no stars to be seen, the canopy was so thick with tall trees.

There was a light ahead though. It was faint, a hazy orange glow. There was something sickly and weird about it. Trina seemed to hesitate. Even she knew it was odd. Her hesitation only lasted a few moments though. Whatever was going on in her head, she was not worried about the light or was too curious. He just wanted to go home.

Soon, voices were distinguishable. They were chanting something. The rhythm of their words was strange and stilted. He couldn’t pick out any words, all of them sounded like gibberish. He looked to Trina. She’d stopped and was crouching down. They were close, almost close enough to see. The strange orange light was full of shadows now, dancing back and forth like frenzied animals. His hands were shaking. He wanted to flee, he wanted to go home, he wanted to pee. There was an odd feeling in his gut then. A curiosity. He wanted to see what was happening behind the curve in the path. He wanted to see the orange light, the dancing shadows, the creepy voices. He looked at Trina. She had the same look in her eye. Without speaking, they clasped hands and crept forward, moving as slow as they could. There were more sounds now, the drums, the voices, and the sounds of trees moving. Not the same kind of moving as swaying in the breeze or cracking in the cool air. They were moving on their own. The creaking sound was old, ancient, and dry. The movement sounded like it was a thing not meant for moving or walking. They peeked around the corner.

The scene was frenetic and strange. There were people there, some dressed in rags, some dressed in vestments more befitting the elves, and some even went naked. They were all dancing around a fire. It was a strange fire, the flames seemed to move and react on their own like it was a living thing. It touched some of the people and they shrieked. It was cries of pain though, it was more like laughter. He winced and tried to push his neck down into his body like a turtle. He was going to be sick. There was something, too, just beyond the fire. It was… a tree? A tree but not a tree. It was a ghostly thing, here but not really here. He knew what that thing was as soon as he saw it: a Huorn. There were so many stories about them. They stole people from their beds, wrecked their homes, killed their crops and animals. They spirited away infants to parts unknown. They were the source of all bad luck to anyone living within the shadow of Fangorn. He’d never seen one. No one who told the stories ever had. But they all knew the stories, they all knew exactly what a Huorn looked like. It was so huge, bigger than he’d imagined. It was truly a tree. Branches reached high into the sky like the claws of a vulture, a vast trunk of mottled greens and browns and reds. There was something painted on it. A symbol. He squinted but he couldn’t make it out. He inched closer and closer. His sister hissed and tried to pull him back. He ignored her. Who was the chicken now? He inched closer, staying as close to the trees as he could.

It was not paint. It was… it was blood.

His eyes widened. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting. His legs felt weak. He wanted to crawl into a hole.

The Huorn spoke. The sound was awful. It was terrifying. The roar of an animal from a hundred feet underground. There were words. Atavistic human sounds coming from a tree were more unnatural than he’d imagined. He knew ents existed and they spoke, but they weren’t so much like trees as… as this. He whimpered. He could almost tell what the thing was saying. He had never been more frightened. He wanted his Mama and Da. He wanted his Memaw and Papa. He wanted his sister.

She crept up closer, huddling alongside him. She gasped and started to scream, he covered her mouth in a hurry, his eyes glued to what she was screaming at.

Their Mama and Da were there. So were Memaw and Papa. Mama and Da were bound and tied to a stone. They were naked. Memaw and Papa were standing over them, their attention rapt on the horrible words the Huorn was speaking. Tears started flowing down his cheeks. What was going on? This was all wrong. This couldn’t be happening. This was just a dream. A bad dream. That’s all. But… but… it wasn’t. It was not a dream. He knew that and he wanted to vomit.

A shriek rose up near them. For a heartbeat, he thought they’d been seen by one of the… people. But no, they hadn’t. It was a sort of call and response. The Huorn said something in that deep, feral not-a-voice, and the people gathered shrieked with glee and blood rending ecstasy. It dawned on him then. They were worshipping the Huorn. The revelation made him puke, but he had nothing in his stomach as his stomach and throat merely spasmed and went through the motions of vomiting. He wanted to shrivel into that ball he’d been in early that day.

BRING…. FORTH… SAC… RI… FIC… ES…

He understood the voice. He knew what it said. He knew what it meant too. He looked to his sister, but her expression was blank, transfixed, broken. Her eyes were glassy. She’d understood too. But she couldn’t understand what she’d heard. She was… hiding.

He wanted to run. But which way? Did he try to rescue his parents? Save them from the bloodthirsty tree? From his Memaw and Papa? How… how could he? There was nothing he could do. He was just a little boy, a little baby. All six and three-quarters years old. What could he do against all these people? Against the Huorn? He stumbled backward, snapping a branch as he did. His sister snapped from her stupor and stared at him with venomous eyes. She bared her teeth and hissed at him.

“Be quiet!”

He mouthed something; he couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be. He couldn’t make his voice work. Nothing came out, not even sound.

They both watched what happened next with heavy limbs, their blood run cold. Their Memaw and Papa untied their Mama and Da, but they didn’t set them free. They took them to an altar made of branches and bones. Mama fought, tried to get away, tried to run away into the forest. Da didn’t. They were lain down and another man, wearing a strange headdress of leaves, branches, and thorns, appeared and with him a wicked-looking dagger. He stabbed them. Over and over and over and over and over and over. Tears clouded his vision. He heaved again, but still, nothing came out but bile and saliva. There was a great shrieking, the unified sound of more than two dozen worshippers. They hooted and hollered and went raving mad. The Huorn spoke, but he closed his ears to the sound. He didn’t want to hear the voice of the thing. He just wanted to go home and sleep in his bed.

A hand grabbed him.

He was ready to fight, but it was his sister. Tears streaking her horrified face. Her eyes were glassy and uneven. “We… have to… run…” she mumbled, her voice cracking and breaking. She stumbled as she picked him up. They ran. They ran as far and as hard as they could. But each time they looked back, that orange haze was just behind them. The path looked utterly different. None of the trees looked familiar. The trees had moved to block their path, to lure them away from the safety outside the forest. Still, they ran and ran and ran. If they stopped, they’d be dead. The Huorn and its raving lunatic cultists would catch them and sacrifice them, just like they did to Mama and Da. Memaw… Papa… they were with those people. They had helped kill their parents. That didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Why would they do that? They ran and ran and ran. It did no good though. The orange light was always just behind them. The shrieking grew louder and more frantic. The voice of the Huorn.

“We have to leave the path,” he said, his voice breaking.

“What? That’s… that’s crazy…”

“Please sister, please Trina. They’re going to get us if we don’t.”

They left the path. They jumped into the underbrush and its quicksand-like feeling. Trina had lost the stick and her coat a long time ago. They were stuck, trapped. Still, they tried to move. The underbrush was not kind, it knicked at them, cut them, slashed them with thorns.

“I’m sorry,” Trina said. “I’m sorry for stealing your bunny.”

He looked at her, his eyes barely staying open. They were both completely covered in grime, dirt, and blood. They’d been trying for hours to escape. It would be light soon, but he didn’t think they’d see it. “It’s okay.” He said. He reached for her and squeezed.

The orange light filtered around the corner and filled the forest.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Balrog
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The Meat Spa
Nearing the Forest of Túrindipië

(Private with Tara)

Umbalatsë was making good time. She ought to be in the Wildberry Kingdom before dark. She would be making much better time if she had the horse drawn carriage she wanted. It wasn’t like it would have put anyone out of pocket that much, and didn’t they want the undying appreciation of Umbalatsë, the future queen of the Lumpy Space? It irked her that no one offered to give her a ride. She had to walk to the Wildberry Kingdom. She. Had. To. Walk. The more she thought on it, the more she realized just how wrong this whole thing was. No one had given her a horse drawn carriage, no one offered a palanquin, no one even offered to let her ride pig-a-back! Finn, that handsome doof, was off on some adventure with Jake; Prince Bonibel had closeted herself in her tower doing some super weird (and super lame) science experiments with bodies she dug up; and even that whiny bureaucratic ninny, the princess of breakfasts or whatever she called herself, said she was too busy. It was truly outrageous. Outrageous! Umbalatsë absently began to pull and purplish-blue hair, a bad habit she picked up when she was annoyed and stressed. And hungry. The future queen of the Lumpy Space was getting very hungry. Would they have her beans in the Wildberry Kingdom? She’d heard all sorts of stories about the famous meat spas (the reason for this visit in the first place) and meat and beans went together like… meat and beans.

It was getting dark. The darker it got, the more nervous the young, lone princess got. There were wolves in these lands. Umbalatsë did not do well with wolves, not since that incident a few years ago. Once she could have been the Queen of the Wolves, but that royal title had been stolen from her by that… no, she was not going to revisit that. That’s exactly what they would want and she was not about fall into their traps again. No sir! Wait, was that a wolf howl? That sounded like a wolf howl. That was definitely a wolf howl. How far off was that? A few miles maybe. Suddenly she wished she’d paid better attention to math in school, if they had actually shown the practicality of math, like finding out how close a wolf is to you, she might have paid a little more attention. Probably not, but the chances would have been a bit more than zero.

Crickets, cicadas, and fireflies began their nightly show but Umbalatsë was in too big a hurry to pay attention. Normally, when she was not out in her makeshift room/amphitheater, she enjoyed a good bug show, but she had a date with a meat spa masseur and she was not about to miss it. Yes, that masseur didn’t know it yet, but they were about to have their world rocked. She also wanted to talk to Hrávapië, the leader of the elves of Túrindipië, the Wildberry Princess herself. It was lonely out here in the wide world with no one but wolves and racoons and bears to talk to (she was going to get that one bear back for stealing her beans). It would be nice to talk to someone her own age. Was Hrávapië her age? Who can tell with elves, and it was impolite to ask. Not that that had ever stopped her before. She really just needed someone to talk to and hang with.

Suddenly it felt very cold, a blast of wind out of the north mussed her hair and dress. She was lucky, the wind was so strong in nearly blasted her off her feet! It was the height of summer! There shouldn’t be winds this cold yet. “Globdammit! Lump off you stupid wind! Nobody needs you yet!” she shook her fist angrily at the sky. “Oh whatever. I’m almost there. I’m getting a steak facial as soon as I arrive and no one can say no to this!”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
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The Meat Spa

The Forest of Túrindipië

(Private with Frost)

Hrávapië hummed as she slipped her arms through the sleeves of a snow-white spa robe. She fastened it in place by tying a bow with the waist tie, then sauntered from one of the Meat Spa’s many large treatment rooms into the hallway. A good meat soak always left her feeling relaxed; there was a reason the staff nervously called it “m’lady’s decompression chamber” whenever they showed her into this room. She entered high-strung with all the burdens of managing her ever-growing kingdom, and left refreshed, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

“Hmmm, hmmm, hmmmMMMMM!”

Her humming, never melodic, became almost screechy the longer she went at it. But she was happy, and that is what counted. Her subjects didn’t seem to mind. They were obsequious and reverent however tunelessly she hummed. The red-haired porter at the door bowed her out - but not before gushing, “Princess! You look most radiant! We hope you’ll be back soon!”

The walk from the Meat Spa to her home tree was mercifully short. In fact, she had directed her people to build the spa as close to her tree as they possibly could. As its most important and frequent patron, she would need easy access. There were plans for a fully-enclosed walkway to be built before winter, which would allow her to walk straight from her second-best sitting room into the Spa’s upper level on a whim.

Yes, things were certainly coming together quite nicely in the Forest of Túrindipië. Since the economy had been infused with a large investment by two outside adventurers (who still had yet to write Hrávapië that apology letter . . .), the kingdom had been flourishing. Luxury markets specializing in imported goods had opened and thrived, and her people were building ever more fanciful homes: among the trees as was their custom, but also along the rivers, upon the hills, and even some multistory buildings unsupported by tree trunks. Hrávapië was coming into her own as a ruler, too: thanks to her legion of skilled hunters, she’d long been rich in the finest meats the land had to offer - but now she was rich in gold, too.

Her office was full of flickering lamps, and a great fire blazed in the hearth. Several sides of meat hung from sharp, silver hooks here and there throughout the room, and over one oil lamp’s shade, there was strung a series of sausage links like a grub garland. She smiled, pleased with the job the maids had done in her absence, then sat down at her desk. She was ready now to face the seemingly endless paperwork that came from running a kingdom: apology letters came flooding in by the dozen practically every day (at her demand, of course). It was incumbent upon her to read them and judge whether or not they were, in fact, sincere. Only then would the offenders be granted a reprieve from the various creative punishments they were due should they set foot in the Forest of Túrindipië again. On good days, there might even be a note of gratitude from one of her subjects, or even a packet of salted meat from a distant kingdom. She never ate those samples, though - she preferred her meat freshly cooked, or even raw.

After several minutes, Hrávapië looked up from a particularly endless and grovely apology from someone called Neptre. She watched the large sides of meat hanging from hooks rustling gently in the breeze . . . wait. Giant hunks of meat did not just rustle in the breeze. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she shivered. Her fluffy robe and the vast fire in here ought to be more than enough to keep her warm. Why was she so cold?

With a small clink, an icicle fell from out of nowhere onto her desk.

Eeeeeeeek!” the Princess of Wildberries screamed.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Ent Ancient
Points: 2 696 
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Greener Pastures
Open to all
Fimbrethil
The Ent-gardens (later known as the Brown Lands)
early(ish) Second Age

Prologue


Over many fruitful springs and summers, Fimbrethil had gathered a group of Ents* to lead east. They were curious tree-herders who sought new forests to explore and trees with new voices not yet heard by any onod. They were garden-growers like Fimbrethil herself, who longed for open pastures and rolling hills where all manner of plants could flourish in pockets of sun and shade. All wanted an idyllic place to herd or garden in peace. They had found this place,
Aurëalóna-wenyalawālla-alwalótëtuilë-lawanórië**, along the Great River and chosen to settle it.

Fimbrethil had left a trail for other Ents to follow in invitation. Small white flowers, sweet-scented and soothing, littered the lowlands hills in her wake. Many years later, the people who settled those lands would name them simbelmynë. Blossoms left in memory of her journey would one day grace the tombs of kings, and possibly queens, though none ever mentioned them in the great stories. And eventually, the Onodrim who went east were forgotten.


Present

Leaves shivered beneath an invisible breeze and a soft tremble ran through root and branch. Before the shiver crawled up her fingers buried in the earth, she heard a soft buzz like a pleasant bee song. It drew her gaze upward, away from the rich tilled soil, and at the orchard around her. These slight signs were perceptible only to those who tuned in, like Fimbrethil, she who tilled this earth, listened to its song, felt it in her heart, and keenly knew each blossom, bramble and birch beam.

It spoke to her now, through leaf and limb–
Someone was coming.

Was it…? Could it be? Had he seen the light at last, come out of the shadows of his forest eaves to her side once more? To admit, once and for all, that her land was fair? When last she saw him, her cheeks had grown ruddy as apples in her displeasure. She could not ask him to leave his forest, for it was part of him, but why should she remain in his dank, dark forests when she could be somewhere under a wide sunlit sky where the land would burst to life beneath her feet? As usual, Fangorn had been impervious to her mood on her leave-taking.

They had once wandered together, from Dorthonion to Nan-tasarion, towering pines to flowering willow-meads, to their heart’s content. Until the wars of elves and humans sundered and flooded the land. The first humans who had crossed her path sent her into hiding. She concealed herself in the bushes, with flowers in her hair draping over her eyes as she watched and listened and learned their speech. They aimed arrows at her when she revealed herself and she turned the sharp spindles of wood into harmless flowers and their bows into vines. To this day, she was still wary of humans but she would not hide again.

Another ripple of the earth’s heartsong tumbled through the trees to her.
Someone was coming.

It could not be Fangorn approaching. The trees would flourish with his presence. Leaves would brighten and slender branches would reach higher, bend closer, just to be near to him. As would she despite their differences. A stranger approached, someone who had not walked this patch of earth yet. Fimbrethil stood and peered over the crown of the trees to get a better look at who was disturbing her grove…


Optional prompt one:
Are you the newcomer (or one of many newcomers) approaching or are you an Ent who migrated with Fimbrethil to the Ent-gardens? In either case: Who are you? Why did you come here?


OOC:
*Please note, I will be referring to all beings of the Entish race as "Ents" rather than using gendered Entwife or Entmaid as is written in the books. You are welcome to do the same if you choose but it is not required and Ents of all gender identities are welcome here.
**this is made up Entish derived from mangled Quenya which translates roughly to: Sun-soaking green-growing flourishing-spring land-of-plenty

Balrog
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Greener Pastures
The Ent Gardens, Early Second Age

Winterwillow followed the little stream, watching it meander and tilt and wander without any intention of growth or responsibility. The green-blue waters were cool and refreshing, moving slowly and unperturbed along its course, unknown and unnamed to anyone else but Winterwillow, it was their own little secret place. Winterwillow envied the stream. There were no expectations of this stream, it could bubble and play, hide under the ground then burst with childlike glee out of a hill. There were too many expectations of Winterwillow. They didn’t want to become an old Ent, slow and plodding and burdened with responsibility. That was for other Ents, ones that wanted to stay hidden from the eyes of the Children and tend to their deep forest gardens. They wanted to follow the stream and play and tend to the mosses and flowers and trees that grew along the bank. Willows were their favorite, naturally, and they grew in abundance along the bank, filling their little heart with more joy than they could imagine. Willows came in so many shapes and sizes, each with their own distinct personalities and journeys. They were unlike the mighty oak and elms, they did not aspire to the greatness and dignity of true trees, but rather grew content to crowd the sandy banks in congress with one another.

Today was different. They couldn’t figure out why, but the air felt different today, not quite as hot and humid, but not cool or dry. There was an air of expectation today, Winterwillow could feel it in their limbs. Today was a day for doing things new and unexpected. They rose from their little home; one they’d grown close to the stream to hear the endless pitter-patter of watery feet. There were birds in the trees this morning, light with song. It was a good morning, and Winterwillow smiled to get to experience it. What would they do today? There were so many possibilities, so many ideas. The other Ents would tell them not to be hasty, to consider each and every course of action and decide only once they were sure beyond all doubt. But those were the old Ents, the Ents that didn’t want to explore the way they did. They wanted to see every part of Fangorn and know all the streams and all the mossy banks.

“Hmmmmmmmmmm, what should I do today?” they touched the moss on their favorite outcropping, it was cool and bouncy, comfortable, and content. They decided to sit on the bank and listen to what the stream had say. Winterwillow didn’t like taking a long time to decide something, but they knew the value of listening to their most valued companion. The stream was far older than they, cutting through the furrows of the earth since time immemorial; but in the same breath, the stream was far younger, the waters only just passing this way without a clue to where it was going, clad only in a spirit of adventure.

“Hmmmmmmmmmm, yes, I think that is a fine idea. A fine plan indeed.” It was settled, they would follow along with the stream and see where the waters went. They had never gone passed the boundaries of the great forest. Today’s air of expectation would send them into the wider world, a place they’d only heard vague stories from the elders. Surely the lands beneath sky were as wonderful and wide as the land beneath canopy. Winterwillow was going to find out.

They followed the course of the stream, touching and listening to each of the willows that stood on the banks. It lifted their heart to hear the tales the willows had to offer. Each of them had a different story, a different perspective. They were open and shared them without reservation or expectation of returned investment. They would sing by the banks of the stream, a chorus of voices unique as their shape. Winterwillow wanted to let everyone in Middle-earth hear so lovely a song. Surely even the elves would stop and wonder and marvel at it. Mighty singers they might be, but not even their clear and high voices could reach the roots of the song of the willows. How far did the willows go? How far along the stream did the willows live along the bank and whisper and murmur amongst one another?

“Hmmmmmmmmmmm,” Winterwillow hummed along with the song, adding a deep, earthy note to their song as they went along the stream. The air was cool and smelled of seasons come and gone and come again, time smelled of past and future. They wondered what the future smelled like, did it smell of promises and desires fulfilled? None of the elders knew what it smelled like, maybe Winterwillow would be the one to find it out and tell a new story to the elders.

Winterwillow saw the edges of the forest, an unclear line of trees that slowly tapered out and gave way to green and yellow fields. A trepidation of sorts troubled their thoughts as they came close. They’d never been this far out of the shadow of the eaves. Could it really be okay to come out into the world of sunshine and meadows? The stream continued on, slowly trickling down, running down over a small waterfall that filled the cool waters with rambunctious excitement. Winterwillow decided that if the stream felt this land was okay, then it must be, and followed the slow, meandering course.

There was a little something sitting on the bank a way off, between two tiny hills. Winterwillow had never seen something like it. It was like one of the Children, but smaller. What was it called? Winterwillow was filled with a curious nature, a desire to see this thing up close and talk to it, see what it was and what it was like. They moved with eagerness, rumbling and tumbling along the banks of the nameless stream until they were in closer view. The creature was indeed small. They had thought maybe it was a dwarf, one of the creatures that liked to take the wood of the forest to build, but it was not. The creature did not have fur the way a dwarf did, snowy and white and spilling like waterfall from their chin. There was only a small brown line that traced the outline, much like Winterwillow’s own.

“Hullo there,” they said when they were closer. The little person did not seem to have noticed their approach, so absorbed they were in watching the clear blue-green waters of the stream. They looked up and their eyes became nearly as wide as their face. There was an expression, of bewilderment, maybe, or perhaps it was excitement? They were not the best at reading the expressive faces of the Children, whose faces changed so often it was hard to keep track of what they looked like sometimes.

“Uh, h-hello?” the little creature said, staring.

“My name is Winterwillow. I’ve come from the forest. What is your name?” from all the stories they had heard from the elders, the Children loved to tell others their many names and origins.

“My name is,” the creature spoke slowly, their eyes never leaving Winterwillow’s; they coughed. “My name is Darragh. I’m from, well I don’t know where I’m from.”

“It is good to meet you, Darragh.” Winterwillow’s day was much more exciting than they had expected it to be so far.

⭐
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
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Greener Pastures
The Ent Gardens, Early Second Age

She wandered amongst the trees. Flowers and fruit filled her nostrils with a sweet fragrance, and the dappled sunlight filled her spirit with a sense of calm. She took a deep breath and sighed a long exhale. Little dust motes danced on the air in a ray of sunlight, set in motion by the current of the breeze and, more recently, her breath. Her footfalls were light and nearly soundless; moss and leaves and soft soil absorbed each step she took. From time to time, birds and insects chirped their various sounds and reminded her that she was not alone.

Admit it, a voice in the back of her head nagged at her. You’re lost. You’ve been lost since before you left home.

She sighed, shook her head, and continued making her way through the grove, doing her best to ignore the sharp little voice. That voice had been a constant companion since she could remember: a needling, mocking presence that, at its worst, made her worst fears real and quite inescapable. There were times when she stood up to that voice, though, and beat it back to a mere snide commentary on everything she did. On days like today, it mocked her relentlessly. She’d learned to live with it as a child - to share the space in her mind with a hostile presence. She had never fully tamed it, though. She couldn’t possibly have counted all the nights she’d cried silently in her room, riddled with self-doubt. Eventually, it had driven her into the wider world and away from her family and her village, searching for solace in solitude.

“Shut up,” she growled, though she was quite alone. “I won’t let you ruin this forest for me. It’s too beautiful here, and you’re too horrible.”

The little voice in the back of her head snickered but offered no commentary. Its silence would not last. She knew it would return at some point - if not today, then tomorrow or the next day - but she chose to push down her worries in favor of focusing on the beauty before her.

Succulent fruit hung heavy from the trees. Their boughs sagged slightly beneath the weight of such plenty. “How convenient,” she said aloud to the tree. “Thank you.” She stopped and ran a hand over the nearest tree’s coarse bark, then plucked from its lowest branch an apple. She inhaled its sweet scent before taking a bite. The fruit was crisp, and the crunch of her first bitem seemed to echo through the clearing. Juice burst from the fruit’s flesh and spilled over her lips and chin. There was a delight that she’d never known before in this simple act of eating something freshly-harvested. She had, of course, eaten fruit straight from the tree as a child, growing up on a farm. She had even explored the woods near her childhood home, running into the trees’ embrace when there had been no other refuge. But this place, this orchard, was special somehow. The fruit, the fragrant atmosphere, the peace and quiet of the grove . . . she could not have designed a better haven for herself.

She took another bite of her apple, then froze. Something or someone had moved nearby. Her cheek still bulging with unchewed fruit, she looked around, wild-eyed. She had no weapons and no experience with fighting. Some might say it was ridiculous for her to have ventured so far from home without such basic skills. But anything, anywhere, would be better than where she’d started. Still, the instinct to make herself small and hide from view overpowered her, and she shrank behind her apple tree’s trunk.

“Hello?” she whispered.

⭐
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Ent Ancient
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Greener Pastures
Open to all (Info and OOC here)
Fimbrethil
The Ent-gardens
early(ish) Second Age


“When Summer warms the hanging fruit and burns the berry brown;
When straw is gold, and ear is white, and harvest comes to town;
When honey spills, and apple swells, though wind be in the West,
I'll linger here beneath the Sun, because my land is best!”

(The Ent and the Entwife, Treebeard, The Two Towers)

A soft breeze rustled the trees around Fimbrethil, their branches brushing gently against her shoulders, and a few apples tumbled to the mossy earth. Verdant crowns danced around her, joyous in the wind and sunshine. The stranger had the look of a young human to her, small and delicate as a sapling, and just as in need of nourishment and gentle tending.

Fimbrethil stood still and silent for a long while after the human-sapling whispered a faint and uncertain greeting. Humans spooked easily, quickly resorting to blade or bow, always so willing to do harm. None would come to harm in this place, not as long as she remained to caretake and keep peace.

She listened to the trees, to their hushed murmurs and perceptions gleaned through roots and leaves. Trees did not lie nor try to sway any to their side. They spoke only what they sensed deep in the earth and high in the sky. The girl-sapling bore no weapons and meant no harm wandering this way.

Eventually, Fimbrethil spoke as quiet as a leaf falling to the forest floor, slow and delicate as she formed the words in a language the human-sapling might understand. She plucked a round ripe apple from the branches and offered it, smiling, glad to share the fruits of her and the trees’ labor and see them appreciated. Knowing humans were more difficult to care for, more fragile and fickle, than most plants she knew, requiring plentiful food and drink with each rise and fall of the sun.

So she welcomed the human-sapling into their garden-home, crafting an ent-draught of lavender-infused springwater for rest and recovery. Fimbrethil placed her hands over a wooden cup and the silver water within glowed with violet-golden light. The light effused out and all the flowers and fruits in the orchard shimmered in a sunset hued glow. Fimbrethil did her best to treat the girl-sapling and all others as if they were one of her own beloved birch seedlings or pear blossoms, tending their needs and softly speaking and singing to them.

Humans and small joyful folk who called themselves hobbits joined the Ents and settled there in peace and harmony, tilling the earth together, green and rich and growing, and all flourished as if spring was never ending and no darkness would touch them save that of the winter night.


Optional prompt 2:
Summer fades to autumn and winter closes in. How do you settle in your new home? What challenges and joys do you encounter? Do you choose to grow one type of plant or tree, specializing in vegetables or legumes, fruit-trees or flowers? Or do you try a little bit of everything, perhaps even tending a stone garden? Or perhaps are you just passing through on your way somewhere else (where? why?) and take a temporary respite here?


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