++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Day 3++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Gandalf

Somehow he doubted he would make it before the little girl fell ill. It would take four days to get from Rivendell to the Northern borders of Fangorn, perhaps less if he rode his horse to foundering. He didn't know why it was so important that he be there, but he knew that without him, the child would die of the lung fever before any other help could be found. The wizard knew that, and knew that the child could not be allowed to die. She would soon be very, very necessary. And beyond the immediate future… she would be imperative. But for the life of him, with all his foresight, he could not see how.

Treebeard

The little thing the wind and water spoke of lay shivering on the banks of the Entwash, clutching a soaking wet cloth and wooden doll, curled up as tight as she could get to keep warm. Treebeard knew exactly what this new thing was: a human child. A sick human child, and one all alone.

Gently, he lifted the child up, cradling her in one moss-covered hand. She was very white. He didn't think humans were supposed to be that color, the color of pale mushrooms beneath rocks. Most of the horse masters- and he was sure she was one of them, she had the sun colored hair- had golden brown skin, but this child, this little thing… she was so pale and wet and cold, like a fish.

She mumbled something in a half lilt, almost as if she were trying to sing. Something about finding the lovely green Lady Spring… but she spoke in Quenya and Sindarin. Mixing the two, and her accent, told him that she had picked up the language from someone young, who spoke well but had not been formally educated, perhaps learning out of books instead of from teachers. But the Rohirrim had no dealings with the Firstborn, as far as the old Ent knew. Where had she learned their language?

She stirred in his palm, and his heart was moved with pity. She was so small. How many seasons had she seen? It could not have been many. And she burned with fever. That fall in the river had not been good for her, not combined with the frigid Sulime air. He surely could not leave such an innocent creature alone to freeze. It was a miracle she had survived the cold this long, and if the wind had been blowing, he knew she would have frozen to death already.

"Well," he mumbled in his deep, rolling voice, "I am not usually so hasty, but you do not look well, little human child. So you must come with me to my home."

Deorwyn took a shuddering breath, feeling a wet burning in her chest as she inhaled. She looked up at the creature holding her, into its deep, foresty eyes. It had eyes like a forest spirit, she thought. But it was so big and tall….

"Are you a giant?" Her voice was a breath, barely audible. A soft tendril of fear found Treebeard's heart. He could feel sickness on her breath where it blew against his bark. He had to get her back to Wellinghall. There, if he could get some Ent-Drought into her, he was almost sure she would be better.

"You might say so," Treebeard murmured. She smiled up at him, and it felt as if spring had come, just a tiny puff of spring, but spring none the less.

"I don't feel good," she whispered, rubbing her face. "My feet hurt. And I'm hungry."

"Come along," he said. "I will take you somewhere safe." Cradling her carefully in the palms of his hands, he began walking quite hastily towards Wellinghall.

-------------------------------

New chapter. Like it so far? In the words of JunoMagic:

Please feel free to leave a comment!

Anything at all: If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny or poignant or interesting, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.

You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), though if you want me to respond to it, signed is best, OR send me a private message, though I do prefer comments and reviews.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Disclaimers: I do not own the Lord of the Rings; I do not own blah-blah-blah. Said it in chapter one.