Notes: The Druedain of the Druadan forest were "hunted like animals," though in this case, two have been captured. The Rohirrim referred to them as Woses, though they called themselves Drughu. After the War of the Ring and Ghân-buri-Ghân's aid, Aragorn grants the Druadan Forest to their kind alone. This is set long before that though.
Woes
Abraghân was beautiful. She was standing like a stone, and we knew they feared her. The new ones clustered in a circle, shunning all the shadows and loping forwards like fat rabbits. They were tall and blanched and quaggy, and she was beautiful beside them, all hard and brown and twisted into knots.
Abraghân was of the wood and rock without a drop of liquid pooling in her eyes. She had not the irksome, watery gaze that the new ones seemed to prize. She was a daughter of the forest, and her eyes reflected such. Those were shrewd and muted, as rough and black as empty flames.
Their children had heard stories. They begged to see the Wose-woman's eyes glow red, though they clung to dragging skirts all while they clamoured. I could not help but snarl when their men drew close, and the little ones shrieked and howled. My goddess would not move, though she turned her bland and scornful face towards mine. I should have known. I closed my eyes and let them test and prod. They would not dare to touch me.
They had her arms within their grasp, scrabbling with stump-like fingers for a hold upon the tight-stretched skin they aimed to pinch. They did not pause to marvel at the writings carved within her flesh, and how foolish they were being! They had stripped her naked and did not know her power; how she moved before the fire or how her voice could reach the starlit realm. They did not know the meanings of the symbols in her brow or why great bands of tattooed vine snaked towards her belly. They would never know the wisdom of the forest's queen.
She did not reproach them, even when hands drifted and their mocking barks were all too clear. They tweaked her tiny breasts like pebbles and called her ugly names besides. They wondered loudly where she kept her hair. Fools again! These men would never know the chieftain's daughter and her secrets.
Once again they had their spears. This village had a gallows, and she stepped towards it willingly. The women drew their breath as one. They could not understand the quiet as Abraghân would.
And there upon a platform, so far away from her right home, she smiled broadly and would only say a name.
"Izrê. Ghân-buri."
I long knew they were the same, but by then they knew the wonders of her earthen skin.