Disclaimer: If you are colossally stupid enough to believe that I own the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien, or that I am he, you either have serious problems or I'm a better writer than I think I am. Either way, you're wrong.

Chapter Two—Tree-Talk, Ents, And Sleep

I awoke, head pounding and stomach heaving. The ground had stilled, but it felt—strange. I opened my eyes. I was in a grove of trees, the like of which I had never seen before, unlike entirely to the small, stunted ones of my home...this wasn't my home. One glance at the soft light filtering within the tall, proud, green trees convinced me of that. With an effort I stood, steeling myself against the wave of nausea that swept over me. I took a deep breath of air-air that felt alive, and green, and smelled like the plants in my garden.

I fingered the green stone around my neck. My neighbor, who had lived in a cottage nearby before he had left, had given it to me. He had been the only parent I'd ever known. I didn't even know my parents. He had taught me to read and write, though all I had wanted was to go outside and tend my garden and talk to the plants. When he left, he'd given me the stone. It glowed faintly even in the strongest sunlight, and smelled green, like this forest.

Go in peace, little Entling, he had said as he had left. Entling. It was the only name I had ever known, a strange one, which brought to mind trees old and young, and weathered branches. I reached out and touched one of the tall trees. It felt warm and smooth to my touch, old and weathered and strong, but not tired, the way the trees felt at home.

You are so tall, I told it. I could speak to the plants, though not with my mouth or in the tongue I used to speak to humans. They listened and—sometimes, only sometimes,--spoke back, with voices like wind through the leaves. At home the trees spoke rarely, preoccupied with the dangerous, difficult business of growing, surviving in the tough, rocky soil of home, and their voices were harsh and bitter (though with me they tried to be gentle), like a storm raging through barren branches. I loved them for their courage, and toughness, and the gruff gentleness they showed me when they tenderly stroked my hair after I had climbed their branches, as I had done so often as a child. This tree had a voice like a gentle whistling wind through green leaves.

And you so young, it answered softly, and yet in a voice that echoed with age and solidity. Yet you speak with a tree-voice as the people of the Laurelindólan. It has been long since a two-leg came here. Its leaves waved gently. The tree-speech it used sounded strange, rolling and silent and strong. It sounded like a-lalla-rumbo-est-ana-rollo-ballo-bum-nema-son-oren-balla, and that was only a small sample. I do not know how long we stood there talking, days or hours, weeks or minutes. The tree's voice was wise and mine felt so small, so small. I longed to push roots into the deep soil and grow tall, wise, strong, like the tree.

No, that is not your path, it tol me. Speak with the Shepherd. Go in peace, little Entling.

Entling. The tree knew my name. We broke apart and the tree waved its branches in a soft farewell.

Namarie, came the whisper of a green voice on the wind.

I walked on, picking up a handful of dirt and smelling it. It smelled of my garden- carrots, peas, spinach, tomatoes, and the sweat of days spent on my knees weeding and coaxing shoots from the ground. It gave me a burst of energy, and I began to sing, a strange song that I had never heard. It came to me as though I was making it up, yet it felt as ancient as the forest.

Seed to root,

Root to shoot,

Shoot to trunk,

trunk to leaf

leaf to twig

twig to branch

branch to nut and ground and CRACK!

Seed comes again, seed comes again.

It was a quiet song, feeling of the forest's life. The trees stirred contentedly, with a soft murmur of roots gently creaking in damp, rich soil. Behind me, I suddenly heard a rumbling voice behind me finishing the song.

Seed, root, shoot, trunk, leaf, twig, branch, nut, seed!

Seed comes again, seed comes again!

It was a long song in tree-language, but it felt right, true, fine, here- a song that grew with the trees, that they knew and had lived for countless years.

"Hoom, hom. Who comes and sings the tree-song here, hoom?"

I turned. The rumbling voice came from a tall tree, a tree that walked, and had huge green-brown eyes.

I stepped back. I'd never been frightened of any plant, but this one was different- like a great tall animal. I looked up, straight into the huge eyes- and then I wasn't frightened anymore.The eyes were full of the green of the forest and the deep brown of straight trunks, cool and reassuring.

"Hoom, hom. You have the eyes of an ent."

An Ent. Entling?

"What's an Ent?"

"Hoom. Most that come here know us, and not many do, hoom, Ents. Ents. We are the shepherds of the trees, hoom."

Talk to the shepherd.

"You sing the tree-song of old...yet you are young, hoom, and not of the Ents."

My hand, unknowingly, went to the green stone at my throat. The Ent reached out and touched it gently with a slender twig-finger. His huge eyes widened.

"You are of the God-blood, little Entling," he rumbled. "None other could wear the sap of Telperion and live untouched."

Entling. Entling. Entling.

"But-but I am a human!"

"Are you? Well, hoom, you feel like an Entling."

I smiled slightly, unsure. I reached out and touched the Ent softly.

I felt old, old memories- thousands of trees grown from acorn to huge, towering behemoths, withering to skeletons, falling. I saw great sadness, the Entwives' leaving, the Ents weeping tears like rain in the spring, I saw the golden fields of the Entwives and the tall woods of the Ents.

"Hoom! You did not come here by chance, little Entling. There is a reason, hoom, a hasty one, though I do not know it."

He looked at me hard. "Sleep, Entling."

The Ent handed me a bowl of a green-smelling liquid. I drank it quickly, feeling the green spread through my veins and cover me from head to toe. I felt energized, and tired at the same time. I walked over to a small, shady corner of the forest and slept.