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Thin-Gloomy had never liked forests. Heading straight west he had managed to get into one. And this was a scary one. It was called the Mirkwood. The trees grew thickly and the sky was scarcely to be seen. Darkness and lack of space were not things that would normally have bothered Thin-Gloomy, but in this forest, they were wrong in a sense. The darkness was not natural darkness - like in a cave, but it was green and well, treeish. And there was something darker to it than to normal darkness.
The dwarf walked warily under the trees. Suddenly the only blue spot above him was covered with black. Before he could do anything, a flock of angry crows was attacking him. “What did I do to have your wrath?”, Thin-Gloomy wailed in vain, trying to protect his eyes. He drew the Thistle-Cleaver and tried to hit the crows with it. They were far too fast for him and his knife was far too short a weapon. Shlashing desperately with the knife, he took a few steps so that he had his back against a tree. The tree offered him protection, but he still needed a longer weapon. He tore off one of the lower branches of the tree, and started whipping the crows with it. They only backed away and after a short while attacked again. This is not working, Thin-Gloomy thought, I need them to be scared away.
Thin-Gloomy crouch down and took his tinderbox. He wanted to set the branch on firw. All the time the crows were attacking him; scratching his back and tearing his hair. When he finally managed to make the fire, he rose up. Shrieking he waved the flaming branch and defended himself with it.
The crows were not used to fire, and a shrieking dwarf was a new concept for them. Scared and surprised, the crows flew away to find easier prey or victim.
“Phew... That was close”, Thin-Gloomy sighed, treading the branch to extinguish the fire.
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