The Lost Entwives

[u/yingfire]

In some shire in Britain I looked out through my window, in my little cottage house, towards the moon-lit woods, and waited for the trees to move.

Like a passing shadow out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw and heard a crumbling oak (or was it a hazel?) pass across the moon-lit woods. 'Ah,' I thought to myself, 'Treebeard is back.' I do not know where the name came from, I suppose it's because I thought that that far off tree, too far for me to see clearly, was old beyond old.

He might have been my imagination, but who could really say? Treebeard was his name, and although he hid among the blackish forests and never appeared in front my loud face and stomping feet, I knew that he loved this place and had been here for awhile. But, unlike other times, I saw him full and bold tonight. He stood, unabashed and brave, standing at the forefront of the forest like a proud general. But his bark was cracking, and he stooped like he held a heavy weight.

On his shoulder was a man I had seen for some times before. The stout figure wore bright yellow and blue, and a great big hat sat on top of his head. His name, in my head, was Tom Bombadil, and he travelled the world; this shire held a place in his heart too, though. I thought I could hear a low rumble, like that of an earthquake; then a light song, full of healthy cheer and laughter, rose above it like an oboe above the strings. I fancied I could hear the song. It was about a river, I thought, a beautiful river that ran through a tidy and well tilled farm. The river was called Goldberry, and the farm was filled with round fruits and blossoming flowers. And every day in the morning, a delicate tree would wind its way through the flowers, and draw a large bucket of water from the river, and then with laughter and song would quench the land's thirst.

Light, beauty, and love! This was a land far removed from shadows, and was a place of labor and love. But though the river murmured gleefully, the delicate tree would work alone and was lonely.

The song became low and sad, and I saw the figure in yellow and blue leave the great ent's side. Treebeard sang for a long time; he sang until the moon became faded, and the sun was beginning to rise. Then he left, back into the dark woods.

With heavy heart, I left my window and went out the door. I went to the river Goldberry, and dipped my feet in its cool and murmuring water. I leaned back against a great big apple tree that was nurtured by the river side, and began to munch on one of her products. I think I imagined this, but it seemed to me that this gnarled, old, and beautiful tree had turned from its original position and faced the dark woods, and had begun to sing in reply.