[Bêthberry]

A PARTING IN THE FOREST

Arenia squirmed around in her perch high atop The Shepherd's shoulders.

"Ahrhoom. Treetop, you have left the others far behind. They cannot keep up with your long strides. And the forest is still angry with them.'

"Heh, so I have, Taurelien, so I have." The Shepherd's face creased into a papery, flaking grin which curled like birch bark. "Let them fend for themselves for a bit. Too often these men think the land is theirs to dispose, and all must bend to them. Trees bend only to the wind. But they are close enough to Wellinghall to find their own way without great harm."

Arenia squirmed some more. "Look, I see Kelohern coming. Let's wait for him. I want you to meet him."

"Hoom frumh. Frumph! Humh lalla rhum," replied The Shepherd to her. "There will be time for that. Let him appreciate the forest a bit while we have some time together."

With those words, the evergreens around the girl and the Shepherd wove branch and stem. The yews and cedars behind fashioned a thicket through which the boy could neither see nor climb. Tall broad hemlocks in front swayed, their branches swinging aside to reveal an entrance into a large compound cut into the foothill of the mountain, with stone ledges and tables and jars.

Arenia slipped down into the Shepherd's arms and he lifted her up and away, onto one of the stone ledges so she could look straight into his eyes and he into hers, as they had in bygone days. She had grown so much, not particularly in height or weight, but in presence. She knew herself now, Treetop sadly realized with sudden poignant insight. He brushed some leaves out of her hair and smudged a bit of dirt on her chin. He bent closer to her and she reached over to straighten some twiggy strands of hair over a bare patch on his head. Both smiled recalling the old habits and as they did the evergreens tottered and waved around them, happy to see the forest girl again.

"It is restful here. It was always restful here," said Arenia, inhaling the pungent scent of pine and cedar. With her eyes closed, she entered once again the quiet stillness of the forest's immutable life.

"Have you missed us? The way we have missed you?" The Shepherd could not help but ask. "Everything seemed much older and quieter and stiller once you went to find your people."

He brought a stone bowl to her, filled with a liquid taken from the large stone jars. Cupping the bowl in both hands, she sipped it tentatively at first, wanting to make it last, but then, being unable to resist, she gulped it ravenously. As the draught washed down her throat, a remembered vigour spread up through her, from her toes, then winding around her spine, and out the roots of her hair. Arenia smiled, for she had always been fascinated by that reversal of feeling. For the first time since the warg had attacked her, she felt sound and fit, recovered.

"Rhumm limbah rhummah. I miss your soothing ways and the quiet rush of the leaves at dusk. I miss the heavy blanket of forest air around my shoulders. I miss being tossled from branch to branch and seeing over the canopy. I miss your belongingness. But return I cannot, Ahrhoom. I long for elsewhere."

The Shepherd of the Trees watched her possessively and for more than a brief moment jealous envy was added to his feelings about the men who had found her and protected her.

"These are my people, and they have a job to finish. And my word is with them. We must cross over the mountains. Something important waits for them at this ancient place, something they think will help them fight off this darkness."

Whistful sorrow overcame the Shepherd and he seemed to slump. These weren't the words he had wanted to hear. He was loathe to let her go again, but he knew he must.

"Butterfly, you have left your cocoon," he finally admitted.

"No," replied the forest girl. "Bird, from a loving, protected cage."

At least, Treetop decided, he could help her. "There is a secret passage around Methedras, where the Entwash begins its journey to the sea. I will tell you where to find it."

Treetop leaned over, his large, knobby hands covering her shoulders, and whispered the directions to the pathway to her. Then he stood back.

"It has not been used since the Old Forest was mangled in the days before Beleriand was lost. But it will help you."

A commotion in the trees interrupted them. Treetop looked away towards the north and then nodded. As he did, the hemlocks at the entrance to the ent house parted and Kelohern scrambled in, running pell mell around the edges until he spied Arenia.

"Hum sharah mabrah. Rulla hoom. I am called elsewhere, Forest Child. Taurelien, this is your home, was in the past, is now, and will be evermore. Treat your friends to the hospitality of an ent's house and go on your way."

The Shepherd of the Trees then shuffled off, chuckling softly as he decided to let the boy figure out for himself how to reach Arenia on the stone ledge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ulfwine cursed and picked himself up. He would have kicked at the root which tripped him, but Thenamir stayed him.

"No sense giving them more reason to play tricks. They are not harming us, just making sure we get their point," said Thenamir.

Ulfwine scowled, trudged on some more, stumbled with fatigue, and finally slumped down on the carpet of pine needle and cedar, moss, desiccated leaf, and brittle twig. He was tired, tired of incessant struggle and deprivation, tired of being forced and driven and needled. He was tired of chasing after that giant and none too sure of where they were headed. He lay still for some time until he suddenly realized that the aroma of the forest bed was tingling his senses, making him breath more deeply. Then, rudely, a foot, Guthdren's foot, prodded him to get up.

"What do you think you are doing, inviting a warg to dinner?" Guthdren snorted at the Dunlender.

Elwood offered a hand up to Ulfwine, who accepted it with a nod of thanks as a token of fellowship. "Come," said the elf. "The boy has run ahead, far in advance. Let us try to catch up."

Another hour of tramping through the undergrowth, climbing over fallen trunks, skirting shrub and thicket, and detouring around sloughs of fetid, stagnant water found them face to face with the wall of hemlock guards, which strangely seemed to move aside. Uncomprehending and wary, the ragtag band stood immobile until the branches began to sweep them unceremoniously into the compound.

[ November 03, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]