I dance among the tall trees, ignoring my doom. There is no hope left, I know it, but I will be happy for whatever time remains to me. The orcs will not come into the Old Forest; no sane person would.
We tried to grow trees in Cardolan; they all failed. Bushes we could manage, blueberries and currents and gooseberries, blackberries and raspberries: those grew in abundance and the twittery birds flew to them.
I dip my head and swirl in the Old Forest, knowing I must return to the profane world soon. I will die then, but for now, not.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.