When you needed to hide, one became a neekerbreeker. When action or escape was called for, the jackdaw was best. But for deep thinking, or a good rest and regrouping, nothing could beat becoming an Ent.
Birdie enjoyed the immense feeling of power, focus and being that came over her when she was in Ent form. So much in fact, that she would only morph into the form when she needed a good night's sleep, or when life seemed to be at its most tumultuous. She seldom used it for defense, and would never use it to attack someone, unless a friend was in need of protection from something truly dire. And the enemy had better be intimidated by sheer size to be effective. Ents were notoriously slow to attack.
But she most enjoyed seeing the world through Ent eyes. It was such a colorful place to be, everything around revealing its glowing essence, from the loftiest peak to the smallest insect scurrying in the grass. She had listened to Holly's invitation while marveling at the light yellow and warm orange surrounding her, with the even brighter yellow of Olo playing a nice compliment. Come to think of it, Ent-Bird had never seen a Hobbit that didn't have SOME yellow.
Now the Ranger was another matter all together; the warm red-orange emanating from him had an undercurrent of green. Very becoming, actually. Bird had always had a soft touch for a red-orange-green man.
Oddly enough, sometimes the Ent-Bird could see the colors of people even when they weren't there. She could definitely sense the crystal light of Bethberry as she wandered the forest, seeking sustanance for the Rangers that she had decided to take under her charge. And to her utter amazement, a blinding white presence was streaming forth from an old wizard smoking a pipe by the fire of the Trade Inn. This was a wizard? Then what WAS a wizard? Bird had never, ever seen a true, pure white come from any being she had met in Middle-Earth. She trembled to think what she may have crossed paths with.
It was at that moment that Bird truly decided to take Holly up on her offer, (though she probably would have anyway.) She would hang around the yard in jackdaw form until the night hid her, then join Holly by her fire to discuss the days events in a calmer frame of mind.
Vorondil did not gasp in amazement; he had been too long in the wilderness to betray his presence in such a careless fashion. But his closed fist rose to his forehead in the old ritualistic gesture as he watched the half-dead mulberry tree - which the halfling had engaged in one-side conversation and addressed by name - melt and shrink before his eyes. Then tree was gone, and in its place a small, black and white crow sat on the boulder. It polished its beak ("HER beak!" he thought wildly), on the rock, ruffled its feathers ("HER feathers!") and flew off in the direction of the inn.
The Ranger turned and ran back to the inn by another route. He must speak with Gandalf.
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