[piosenniel]

The cart rolled slowly along the rough track through the forest.

What had been a place of beauty and song was now grown dark and silent. The ancient pines, once proud and tall, now stood bent and drooping, as if in defeat, and the murmur of shadowy thoughts moved through their boughs like a dark, discordant breeze. No birds sang in the boughs, no laughter and the song of elves rejoiced among this creation.

The driver of the cart, pulled on the disshevelled pony's reins and brought the cart to a brief halt. Taking off his broad brimmed hat, he wiped his brow, for it was hot and still beneath the lowering trees. He shook his head in sadness as he looked about the once life-filled forest, remembering its beauty and its grace.

Then settling his hat once again on his head, he clucked to the pony, and urged him on.

When he reached the camp, the orcs stopped him. They recognized him as the harmeless, simple minded man who often brought supplies to Morgoth's prisoners. They went through the items he had loaded in his cart, taking what they wished for their own use. He said nothing, just sitting there, his shoulders slumped, in an attitude of fearfulness. When they were done with their pilfering, they waved him through, laughing at his now depleted cartload.

He brought the cart to a halt near the sheltering wall of a large building, well away from the prying eyes of the guards.

As he stepped from the cart, he heard the muffled crying of babies coming from nearby and the sound of someone singing the words of a lullaby, though the voice seemed filled with grief.

He unloaded his now meager supplies for this group of prisoners, and waited to be approached, his keen eyes taking in the bleakness of the camp while his ears picked up the undercurrent of mourning in the air.

[ August 13, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]