Middle-earth, and all who dwell within it, belongs to Tolkien. I am grateful to him for growing this beautiful garden in which my imagination can play. Please REVIEW!

"Radagast is, of course, a worthy wizard, a master of shapes and changes of hue; and he has much lore of herbs and beasts, and birds are especially his friends."

...

Radagast sat still and silent in the woods, his knees drawn up to his chin, his hands pressed against the ground and his fingers buried deep in the earth. If any Man had passed this way, they would have thought him the broken stump of an ancient tree… if they thought of him at all. If any Elf had passed, they might have sniffed the air and stopped to listen, but Elves had urgent errands of their own; they would not linger long enough to discover the source of their disquiet.

Radagast sat. He waited, and he watched. Those who knew him would say that his eyes were brown, but they were not. They were blue, as blue as Manwë's sky, as blue as Ulmo's oceans, and they stared steadily upwards as he strained his ears to hear the voices of the birds in the branches overhead. Their song was cheerful and told all in the forest that today was a good day.

Here our nests are safe, they sang. Here the water is clean. Here the food is good.

Radagast's thought moved slowly down from the branches to the earth. He watched the small fry scurrying between the broad-leafed fern, nibbling grass and leaving pellets, planting seeds. The mouse and the vole, the hare and the fox, were at home in the undergrowth, and so was he. Moss grew upon his back. Now and then, one of the little creatures would stop and stand near Radagast's hand. They would lift up their noses and twitch their whiskers at him, but he did not move. He did not speak to them, and they went about their business, speaking to each other.

Radagast listened to the voices of the animals: Here our burrows are safe, they chattered. Here the water is clean. Here the food is good.

His fingers dug into the earth. He was troubled in his heart and could not shake the memory of things long forgotten. He did not like to go below the earth, into the darkness where roots grew twisted and ancient memory slept, but go there he must if he meant to get to the bottom of things. He sent his thoughts downward, stretching toward the little, crawling things. His fingers brush over the worm and the beetle, the ants as they marched through their lightless tunnels and the tiny, white spiders crouched warily over their tiny, white egg sacks.

Here our tunnels are safe, the crawling things whispered. Here the earth is damp and our teeth are sharp... Here we are safe from THEM.

Radagast's eyes widened. He could not speak to the insects under the earth. He could not ask them to explain, but he had heard that fear before, hidden under the distant birdsong and in the wolf's midnight howl. Something was moving in the darkness, growing stronger, coming closer, driving all weaker creatures to flee before it.

Opening wide his mouth, Radagast let out a call. Loud and low and deep it ran, a wordless sound that echoed through the forest, touching every blade and bough and every hair and feather. It touched the shadow as it crawled among the broken stones south of Rhosgobel, and the shadow hesitated. It shuddered and it hunkered down low to the ground, hiding from the Watcher in the woods. It was thinking hard, reconsidering it plans; this place was not unguarded. In the trees around the old fortress, those few good birds and beasts who had held their ground against the creeping malice lifted up their heads and sniffed the air. Their courage was awakened and their spirits raised.

The shadow drew back its long fingers. It sank down again, biding its time, brewing its poisons and breeding its servants for the War that was to come.

But not yet.

No, not yet, Radagast thought and was glad. He did not want to leave this place yet. The forest was green and growing. It was still safe. They still had time.

At the next council, I will tell them what I have heard, he thought. Gandalf and Saruman, they will know what to do. Gandalf will listen to me. After all, it was only a hundred years until the council met again. That was not long at all, hardly the blink of the eye, and he could not really be sure that what he felt was what he feared.

Not yet. No, not yet. The birds were still singing and the grass was still growing. There were still so many hills that he had not walked and trees he had not climbed. A small, grey vole scurried up onto his knee and looked at him, its little nose twitching eagerly as it sniffed out the bread crumbs in his pocket.

Radagast smiled and gave the creature the crumb of a biscuit to nibble.

I have never believed that Radagast failed in his task. He may have neglected Elves and Men to look after birds, beasts and trees, and certainly that was not in Manwë's plan, but I think Yavanna would have been pleased with actions of the Maia she chose.

-Paint