[Orual]

"Fangorn is just ahead," Anson announced, still grimacing from the foul-tasting concoction that Andunériel had forced upon him for the knock on his head. His first glimpse of the forest, however, put all of that out of his mind.

It loomed ahead, dreary and dark and ominous. He had not liked the look of the Old Forest, but this was a hundred times worse. A thousand. But he thought of Violet and Della and Rudy and the rest of them, and suddenly it didn't seem so impossible anymore.

Step by step, the forest got closer. He did not feel the creeping sensation on his arms that he got when he went by the Old Forest, but the air seemed almost musty. He almost laughed aloud; the people of the Shire called their forest the Old Forest, but it was like a newborn babe compared to Fangorn. Anson could feel it. This was older than living memory. He wondered what could live in this forest, what could stand this feeling of being so insignificant; men and hobbits and even elves lived and died, and this forest still stood, unwavering, uncaring, unchanging. Like a rock in Time's river, it was still while everything around it moved. Anson shivered, suddenly cold.

"Let's get it over with," he muttered, and Peony shot him a questioning look which he ignored.

They entered Fangorn Forest.