[Child of the 7th Age]

After what seemed like hours to Bingo, the current began to slacken. His branch veered off into a side eddy and was finally brought to a halt by a floating mass of twigs and decaying bracken. He managed to wade out of the water and scramble up the steep bank by using the tangled tree roots to give him a hand and foothold for climbing. By now, it was completely dark. Nervously, he looked up into the skies searching for any visible sign of the moon or the stars, but the dark canopy above was featureless and blank.

Since the muddy shore was too slippery for him to walk without sinking in up to his ankles, he veered off towards the east, entering the thick grove of trees and bushes that stretched along the length of the Brandywine. He had absolutely no idea where he was or at what point on the river the raft had capsized. His main thought was to get back to his brother, and he vowed not to rest until he had managed to do that. Still, he did not like the idea of walking through the woods. The one lesson that had been drummed into his head from childhood was to avoid the woods because terrible things lurked there.

Bingo was so tired that he could barely put one foot in front of the other. But, dutiful as ever, he plodded onward, struggling to keep awake and alert. Periodically, he would bump into a bush or small tree because he wasn't watching closely enough. Plus, the night was so dark that it was difficult to see anything more than a foot away. In the distance, he heard a howling. Only a farmer's dog lost in the wild, he assured himself. But at the back of his mind lurked the image of a fierce wolf, with gleeming eyes and slavering jaws. An owl hooted in a tall tree. Bingo stopped to listen feeling increasingly ill at ease.

He went over to a tree and yanked off a sturdy cudgel, both to help him navigate the uneven ground and to provide a handy weapon if any of the foreboding noises turned out to be a portent of some immediate threat. Bingo was careful to stay on the edge of the forest, close enough to the river that he could keep track of any noises coming from that direction. But, so far, there was absolutely no sign of the raft or his brother. As he trudged along, Bingo began remembering the tales Granny used to tell him: how the hobbits of Buckland had once battled the forest and imprisoned it behind a tall hedge. He remembered her speaking of moving trees that would suddenly come alive and attack without notice, swallowing up a hobbit in its twisting limbs and trunk. Bingo shuddered slightly, wishing that he was home safe in bed. Perhaps it would be better if he stopped now, and waited for the morning to come. But then he remembered Reggie, and that Granny had also told him a hobbit must be brave and push on even when things seemed hopeless.

What happened next, Bingo could never quite explain. He was blundering through a thicket of elderberry bushes and ferns, making more noise than he should have, while thinking that it would be nice if he was back at Brandy Hall, drinking a cup of elderberry tea, when suddenly he tripped over a root, or that's what it seemed like to him. Immediately, a threatening creature loomed on the path ahead of him: a shapeless mass covered with leaves and dirt. Bingo froze in alarm, thinking that this must be one of the evil tree spirits that his granny had warned him about. The only difference was that this creature was more bush-sized than tree-sized. Bingo grimaced and steeled his nerve. He did not want to be swallowed by a bush. Raising his cudgel above his head, he roared out a warning and raced forward, intending to pummel the evil bush into the ground if it did not get out of the way.