The South Chetwood Forest was Lily Marsh's favourite place in all of Bree. Her mother had taken there often as a child and she never tired of it. So it was no surprise when, on a warm, bright morning in April, Lily's neighbours saw her riding through the village on Holdwine (her horse) in the direction of the forest. A smile came to Lily's young face as the horse gathered speed and she felt the cool spring air blowing in her face. Her shawl whipped out behind her and a few strands of her dark brown hair were blown loose from her braid.
All too soon, they reached the outskirts of the forest. Lily slid down from the saddle and tied Holdwine to the lowest branch of a nearby tree.
"I'll be back soon, my lad," Lily assured him, stroking his nose.
Holdwine snorted and nuzzled against her palm, seeming to understand. Lily smiled up at the animal that had been her best friend for her whole life, and a close companion of her mother before her. He was a magnificent chestnut coloured steed, born and bred in Rohan – a distant land that Lily knew only in stories.
With a basket on her arm and a set of clippers in hand, Lily set off in search of herbs, taking care not to stray too far into the trees. Lately, there had been talk of suspicious folk passing through Bree and Lily would prefer to not encounter any of them. She placed her free hand on the hilt of her sword which her mother, Mildred, had insisted she take with her. Lily was reassured by the feeling of the cold metal of the hilt in the palm, knowing that she would at least have the means to defend herself if the worst happened. She would have felt safer had her mother been able to accompany her. Mildred was also considered the leading authority in the matter of herb lore. Her family had been the proud owners of a small apothecary shop for generations. One day the shop would belong to Lily, and Mildred had made it her job to pass as much of her knowledge and skills onto her daughter as possible.
Within an hour, Lily's basket was filled with sage, rosemary, thyme, basil, lavender and even a few berries. She smiled at her little harvest, certain that they would earn a pretty penny. Setting the basket on the ground, she sat down on a log with a contented sigh and gazed at her surroundings. The forest looked so green and fresh. New leaves were beginning to appear on the trees amid the white blossom, and bluebells and wild garlic were sprouting up through the turf. The place was so peaceful – a pleasant change from the bustling streets of the village.
A tear came to Lily's green-brown eyes as she remembered the many happy hours she had passed there with her mother picking flowers, looking for wildlife, collecting acorns and conkers, skipping stones on the narrow stream that ran through the centre of the forest, and having mock duels with twigs. That had been one of Lily's favourite games, so much so that her mother had gifted her a real sword for her twelfth birthday. Rising from her seat, Lily unsheathed her sword, its blade gleaming in the sunlight. Gripping the hilt in both hands she hacked, slashed and swiped at the air around her, practicing the various stances, attacks and defences.
Spinning on the balls of her feet, she gasped as another blade appeared out of nowhere and collided with her own with a resounding clang! Immediately she recognised the scruffy face and shaggy black hair of its bearer. It was Strider, one of the Rangers of the North. Lily had seen him a handful of times, sitting alone in a darkened corner of her uncle's inn, or going in and out of the village on mysterious journeys. Nobody knew exactly who he was or where he went, nor did they ask; all were wary of Strider and avoided his company. Now here he was, mere inches away from Lily, in a dense, secluded woodland.
"You have some skill with a blade," Strider remarked.
Lily's eyes widened to the size of apples as she gazed up at the Ranger towering over her. Then, with a surge of confidence and one strong swing, she pushed the Ranger's blade to the side. Strider sheathed his sword, looking at her with apparent admiration in his keen grey eyes.
"That is a fine weapon you have," he said, and he was right. The blade was long and thin, just light enough for Lily to hold, with a blue and silver handle to match the scabbard. "May I look at it?" Strider asked, holding out his hand.
But Lily was not going to surrender her only means of defending herself, especially to a stranger. "You can see it from where yer standin' and ye don't need yer hands to look. Anyhow, you have yer own."
The ghost of a smile crossed Strider's stubbled face. "As you wish," he murmured. "But where did you get it?"
"My ma had it made for me, an' it was her what taught me to wield," Lily replied. "I've been practicin' with it for the last five years."
Strider's eyebrows raised a fraction. "She must have been a very good teacher. She is wise to have taught you to fight; one never knows when such a skill might be needed. Though is not so wise to allow her daughter to go into the forest alone."
"I don't mind," Lily insisted. "My ma has been takin' me here since I was only so old. She gleaned this forest with 'er own ma an' pa, an' I with 'er. My sons an' daughters'll glean wi' me, an' their own sons an' daughters when I'm gone."
She lifted her head up high as she said this. Her mother had spoken these very words to her several times, and they gave Lily a deep sense of pride whenever she heard them. It made her feel as if the forest and everything in it belonged to her family.
Strider gave a wry smile. "Even so, young girls such as yourself should not wander the woods alone." His voice sunk to a near whisper, low and menacing. "For there are dangerous folk out here who may kidnap them or kill them." At this, he took a step closer to Lily, his eyes darkening as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Lily gulped and stumbled back. "Don't you try it!" she warned, raising her own sword.
Then Strider gave a laugh and his demeanour was softened by a smile. "Ah, but you needn't fear me, for I am no such man, nor are any of my kin. We Dúnedain seek to protect the people of the North, not bring them to harm."
Comforted by the realisation that the Ranger was merely jesting, Lily lowered her blade, trembling slightly from the shock. "My…my ma used to tell me a story about a lass from Bree what joined the Dúnedain," she told him, though she did not know why.
"Did she now?" Strider said thoughtfully. "What is your mother's name?"
"Mildred Marsh," Lily replied and Strider gave a small nod.
"I ought to have guessed it, for you look very much like her. I hope her story did not encourage you to follow in the footsteps of that unfortunate girl; the life of a Ranger is not nearly as romantic as it sounds."
A long silence followed as the two stood looking at each other beneath the green trees. The only sounds that could be heard were the soft rustling of leaves and the distant song of birds. The forest seemed to have grown eerily still and quiet. It seemed almost as if they were the only two people left in the world.
"I ought to be gettin' home," Lily finally said. "Ma will be wonderin' where I've got to."
Strider nodded understandingly. "Very well, Miss Marsh. Na lû e-govaned vín," he said, bowing his head and laying a hand on his heart reverently.
Lily did not even stop to ponder the meaning of those words. Taking up her basket in one hand and her skirts in the other, she turned and fled from the forest.