The Wight blinked twice and stared up at the tree. Then, acting as if trees spoke to him every day, he responded, "Um, yes sir...uh, Ma'am...uh, yes, tree. I am bound for the Glade. Ouch!" One of the cats had chosen to insert its claws into his calf at that moment. "If I return this way, I shall give you news of the events, and certainly send others over to speak with you, root-bound as you are."
Looking about to make sure no one had seen him talking to a tree, he hurried on.
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Beleriand, Beleriand,
the borders of the Elven-land.
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