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6 Fourth Age: Still Trees; [ open ]
Topic Started: 15 Nov 2008, 06:49 AM (342 Views)
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The trees were tall. They were quiet.

The Elf walked within, welcoming the silence with her own. Nothing stirred within the undergrowth, no bird chirped. Not a sound permeated the forest, other than her steps which, even then, were lightly taken. By her side was her mare, its mane rustling as it trotted at the same pace as her. Shadows danced upon the floor. Stars peered through the canopy and the moon cast its silver glow upon the ground. She blended into the trees, her dark hair no different than the shade of the tress and her cloak. The coat of horse became a metallic color. Her hood was let down, fearless of any outsider coming across her path. Nevertheless, she was at constant alert for the signs and traces of an unwanted stranger; perhaps an elf that had wandered too far south from Thranduil’s kingdom or a man who dared to venture into the darkness of Mirkwood. Although the name was retired, she reckoned that it was acceptable in the area where the Necromancer’s lair once stood.

At last she paused at a familiar spot – one she recognized from long ago as the very setting that she had awoken in from her deep slumber. It looked no different from the rest of the forest, yet her feet and body remembered it. Always she wandered here when she was free of any assignment given to her, free from any harrying of mortal foes. She would wander in unintentionally, but over the years it had accumulated into a tradition. Although dark, the woods held a sense of security and tranquility that was comforting. Silence was a common friend to her.

A cool breeze swept through; rustling the leaves and capturing a few in its gust, letting them fall to the ground lifelessly. Although dark, Berien could tell that the colors were dulling. Autumn was settling in. The north was clearly feeling the effects of the season. Although certainly not as cold as the outer northern regions of Middle-earth, it was, at the least, considerably cooler than it was in Minas Tirith.

Abruptly the Elf, perceived a sound… a child’s voice. She glanced around, looking for the source, until her eyes finally fell upon a small figure racing in the distance. Involuntarily, she held her breath. Looking closer she saw that it was a little girl and that she was… laughing…?



A young girl ran through the forest with her bare feet, her footsteps light, yet creating a disturbance in the silent woods as her feet crunched on the dead leaves that had been massed upon the ground. A chill air bit at her skin, but she managed to chase off the cold by running. Her dark hair followed behind her, the strands entangling with one another as wind blew it this way and that.

At last she halted in her steps, stopping to catch her breath. Her hands were on her knees as she bent down, panting like a dog in the heat. She glanced up, shook the hair out of her eyes, and peered around. She stood straight now, glancing in all directions. Where had she come from? Where was the exit? She thought of her mother, her father, and the others who would be waiting for her… But the exit… She had forgotten where it was.



A sudden sound snapped Berien from her reverie and she hastily looked forward once more, her hold unforgiving on the saddle of her horse. Her eyes skimmed this way and that, ready to bolt at the minute if a sign of danger should appear. She took a step closer to the beast and kept absolutely silent, her elf ears straining to hear any fragment of sound… but nothing.

She relaxed her grip, letting go completely as she closed her eyes, struggling to remember; to call forth the memory that had resurfaced at that moment. Who was that girl… was it her? It seemed like a dream, but it was so vivid that she didn't consider the notion any further. At last she gave up and faced forward, yet deep inside she held a slight resentment for whatever created that disruption then.
 
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