[alaklondewen]

Child's descriptive/informative post regarding the forest:


Deputy Fredigar stood and stared in dismay as he watched the small band of Hobbits advancing towards the line of trees until they had completely disappeared under the grey shadows of the tangled thicket. Fredigar grimaced and turned towards Ponto Bracegirdle, a younger hobbit of a generally timid disposition when it came to any type of adventure.

Shaking his head in disapproval, the Deputy again kicked at the bracken and shook his head in disapproval. "No good will come of this.... Mark my words! The Dúnedain tell tales of this forest that would cause a reasonable man to quake."

"Are they true, do you think? The stories, I mean... For I have heard them too at the knee of my nursemaid when I was but a tiny lad."

"There is some truth in the tales. It is not only the trees themselves, although they do not help things. For it is said that in some places the great forest can actually move, twisting and tangling the pathways on which the weary traveller walks. But there are shadows on the land of other twisted things, both the men of the North and the agents of the Witch King. The great power in Angmar has battered at these hills for hundreds of years, sending out all type of hideous creatures to try and do his will. But even among the Dúnedain, things have not been well. The men of the northern kingdom sometimes fight among themselves and argue who will control the land that runs westward from the Weather Hills."

Ponto scowled to hear such a grim description of the woods into which his friends had disappeared. He turned toward Fredigar and sighed, "Let us hope then that Marcho has decided on the right thing, and all those he's taken with him will all return to camp."

Then the two Hobbits went back to their wagons, and began taking out their bedrolls and other things that they would need to set up camp that night.

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The long shadows of evening had now settled over the land, casting a dreary pall over the small band of hobbits as they proceeded warily through the trees. Only a few slivers of moonlight shown down from the sky. Since there was no sign of any real path, the Hobbits had to cut and whack their way through the tangled brush, looking for an open glade where they would have enough room to wield an axe and gather the limbs and smaller branches that they needed for the campfire. But the trees were becoming darker and thicker the further they ventured from the road.

Regin leaned over and whispered to his wife, "Let's be glad that we have the road to travel on during the day. For, to tell the truth, if we had to make our way through these trees to reach where we are going, I think I would have turned about and run all the way back to Bree, no matter what the Whitfoots chose to do!"

At that moment a gnarled grey root popped up from nowhere in front of Regin, and sent him sprawling to the ground. As Sarah helped him up, he scowled blankly ahead and wished that he was still back home in the safety of his house in Breeland. Even the jangling coins in his pocket and the promise of more to come did little to lift his spirits when faced with the implacable wall of trees.