[Birdland]

The good-byes were long at the Trade Inn, with the innkeeper delaying Bird with last-minute tidbits of news and observations, and the little skinchanger returning in kind. So it was a good two hours before Bird finally walked away on the Great South Road, turning off into the trees once she was out of sight of the Inn, and taking to the air.

She circled, but the road was empty, and she could see no sign of a Mithadan and his horse. She wondered if he had found some hidden trail that he would use as a short-cut, but little worried about the Man going astray. He was so close to Pio, surely nothing would prevent him from completing his journey, now.

Besides, Bird had no intention of following the road that Mith had took. She had decided on another course, and smiled with anticipation and mischief. Turning North, she let the course of the Brandywine guide her, and in the distance she could see the dark smudge and mists of a once mighty, ancient forest.

“Well“, she thought, “Pio and Mith will want some time alone, before I drop in and spoil the reunion. I may as well give them some time. And how could I come this far and not at least see if all the say about him is true?”

The setting sun warmed Bird’s left side as she finally reached the outskirts of the Old Forest, and she lighted at the top of a massive oak and surveyed the surrounding gloom of trees. Her heart started voicing strong doubts about the wisdom of such a plan, as the afternoon light was swallowed by the darkness in front her, never to rise again. But then she shrugged her small, feathered shoulders. “After all, Hobbits go in there. If they can do it, I can, too. And with much less bother and disruption. For I carry no axes, and seek to forge no paths. The Withywindle runs straight through the forest. I’ll just fly north ‘til I find it, and them I’m bound to find him."

But before Bird could voice any further doubts, the decision was made for her. Though no wind stirred around her, the branch she sat on started to sway, first gently, then with more vigor. Finally it bent down, and with a “snap!” released itself. Bird was shot forward as if from a catapult, and before she knew it was sailing over the treetops of the Old Forest.

The trip was easier for her than it had been for Frodo and his companions, but there were times when it seemed that a topmost tree branch would stretch out to her as she flew by, one actually brushing the feathers of her tail as she passed by. And when she paused to rest, sometimes it felt that she was not clinging to a tree branch, but to a living, warm arm, and she could feel the pulse of tree sap coursing under the bark like blood through a wrist vein. But the rising mists of the forest could not hide the stars above, and Bird followed their signs true north until finally she saw a glimmer through the trees, and the sound of trickling water. She had reached the Withywindle, and though it was full dark around her, the little stream caught the rays of the moon and lit her way. And then she heard the sounds of a flute.

She had found him. And seemingly all the other birds of the Old Forest had found him as well. All fear of darkness seemed to have left the flocks; predator and prey stood side by side in the branches, hopping here and there with delight, and occasionally letting out a trill of excitement or approval. But mostly they were attending to the flute player. The birds were throwing a party, and Tom Bombadil was both entertainment and guest of honor.

The large, jolly man sat on a stump, yellow boots tapping and feathered cap nodding as he coaxed a sprightly air from the instrument. A pair of grouse stood on a hollow log, beating out a thumping rhythm with their feet, and clapping their wings in time, and two white cranes leaped and pirouetted before him, lifting themselves into the air, twining their necks, and tapping their bills together like castenets.

Bird settled on a branch towards the back of the flock, and she bobbed and swayed to the music, but thankfully, did not caw. When the music ended with a flourish, Tom, grouse and cranes turned towards their audience and bowed, while the birds around them trilled, hooted, screamed and cooed approval, flashing their wings and and raising their crests. Bird cawed and whistled with the rest, but stopped short as Old Tom whirled and turned his smiling gaze right at her, and pointed the flute in his hand in her direction. Birdie’s eyes widened in astonishment as Bombadil began to chant:

Toss the feathers, pluck the down!
For Tom can see right through them.
Did you think you could fool me?
“Birdie” in name only.

Set your feet upon the ground,
Leave your nightly wandering,
Come and share my hearth and home,
For Goldberry’s voice is sweeter.

But come the dawn you must away,
Older friends are waiting.
They’ll remind you who you are,
And call on you to help them.

And so Bird spent the night with Tom and Goldberry, laughing, singing, recounting the adventures of “The Star”, and Hobbrims, and Mer-Folk, with Tom correcting the bits she did not remember; for he seemed to know the tale even better than the skinchanger, herself.

But come the dawn she was away, and after flying around the Farthings, checking out the fields and towns that she recalled from Cami’s reminiscing, watching the Shire-Folk at their comings and goings, she finally came flying through the night, spying the friendly lights of the Green Dragon. Laughter, singing, and the sounds of children eminated from the walls and echoed in the trees around her, and the smells of good cooking and ale waived on the breeze. It seemed there was a party going on here as well, and it, too, had started without her.

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Birdland ]