[Envinyatar]

Through the great forests to Tharbad and turning northward to Ost-in-edhil - Spring 1697 S.A.

‘The trees seem fewer here than I remember,’ Ondomirë said, shifting in his saddle to look about the forest. ‘Were they not thick as a lamb’s wool in the winter? At least, that is how I remember them. But then that was long ago, before the seas rose and swallowed fair Beleriand.’ He narrowed his eyes and looked through the well spaced trees. ‘What has happened here, I wonder?’

One of his bowmen, one with as many years as himself, rode up beside him. ‘Men!’ he spat out. ‘Men are what has happened here. How Lord Elrond’s brother can have chosen them is beyond me.’ Ondomirë looked at him curiously. ‘How so?’ he asked, wondering at the vehemence in the Elf’s voice.

‘There were once small enclaves of men who lived near these forests. The forest met their needs. Animals for food; wood for shelter and for warmth. And they in turn respected the gifts, taking only what was needed and with thanks.’ The Elf paused, shaking his head at his thoughts. ‘Now those men whom the Valar have favored with Elenna have traveled in their great ships back to these shores. Their navy is great; they are hungry for wood. And their little island cannot supply such grand trees as these and in such number to satisfy their needs.’ The Elf’s chin lifted slightly, his eyes shifting to some backlit shadow that moved in the distance. ‘Look there, sir,’ he murmured.

It was tall, very tall, Ondomirë thought. Moving with an easy grace, the shadow moved close to one of the trees. It’s head, seeming crowned with leaves and branches, bent near the tree’s own crown, and sinewy arms with long slender fingers touched something on the bark. For a moment the two were still, the tree and creature, then crown and head dew apart from each other. Turning sideways in a measured movement, the tall creature pulled back, disappearing in a few long strides beneath the further canopy of trees.

‘Was that what I think it was,’ he asked, his eyes lit with a deeper wonder. ‘I had heard of them but only in vague tales and those from some of our woodland kin.’ He looked quickly at the Elf beside him. ‘Not to offend by the use of that term . . . woodland. It is only that they have such an interesting and varied set of stories they tell about the places where they dwell. Much of which I have had no experience of.’

‘No offense taken, my captain,’ the other Elf said, his brows raised at the quick apology by Ondomirë. ‘We are fond of stories . . . we woodland kin,’ he went on, a grin crinkling his eyes. ‘And yes, that is what you think it is. One of the Onodrim, shepherding his trees, caring for them as he might.’ He looked upward to where the taller trees fingered the morning sky. ‘There is still a great peace and harmony here among them. Yet on the edges of their thoughts it seems a sort of fear has grown. Fear and some brewing hatred. Though not against us, I think. There is still some recognition of the Eldar. But suspicion hovers in the shadows and they are not as welcoming as they might be.’

The leafy branches of a nearby tree brushed his shoulder as they rode by. Ondomirë repressed a small gasp as some ancient awareness flitted at the corners of his mind. ‘Pardon my intrusion,’ he said, nodding at the branch he had ridden into. The other Elf laughed, watching as his captain nodded courteously toward the tree. ‘Why, sir, you would make a most capable woodland Elf . . . what with your courteous ways and your quick mind!’

For a space of time, the two companions rode together, Ondomirë picking the other’s mind as they went along. The forest took on a life of its own with the words of the other Elf. And Ondomirë wondered at it as he looked upon the trees and their lands with fresh eyes.

A number of weeks passed as the large company continued its eastward trek, nearing the River Gwathló. There was a crossing there, at one of the mannish towns, Tharbad. They would skirt the town and cross further south at a deeper ford, then head north toward the Mirdain city. Three weeks, Ondomirë thought, and probably a bit longer. Lord Elrond would want to spend a few days resting his troops and consulting with his captains. Scouts would have to be sent out; the approach to the city looked at. The enemy’s movements taken into account . . .