#hraicene

{It had only been a few months since Tauriel had left her home in Mirkwood. The excitement of the open road was still new for her, as was the sting of homesickness. It was for the best, that she knew. She was no longer at home in the Elvenking’s kingdom. Though, she was at least grateful that they had let her bring her horse along with her, as well as a good amount of supplies.}

{She had already visited a village or two west of the forests to resupply. It was strange, seeing so many humans again. It had been ages since Laketown, it seemed— ages since the dwarves had come and changed her life forever.}

{On the road again for the past few days, she had not seen signs of anyone else until a lone shape caught her attention on the horizon. It could not have been an orc, for they often rode on the backs of wargs, and they certainly did not ride alone. She cautiously approached the figure on horseback, slowing to a halt as she could finally make out their features. She attempted to keep the surprise from her expression as she realized they were elvish. Slowly, she dismounted, keeping her gaze on the traveler.}

{{Or Welcome Back in this case!}}

At some point Flora had become separated from the merchants she had been travelling with, distracted by curious flowers she had spotted on the edge of the woods that she recalled seeing in an Elvish book about healing. She could not recall wandering too far into the trees, not daring to touch the scarlet blooms (unable to recall it if they were safe or not) but observing the curious plants and enormous trees with a quiet, astonished reverence.  It was a strange place and when she thought she had only been gone but a moment, she turned back to see nothing but brush and no signs of the merchants as though the forest had closed in behind her. No stranger to the wild now and most comfortable amidst trees, Flora did not panic - at first. The longer she wandered the more sleepy she became as though the forest was purposefully drawing her in with it’s intoxicating, sweet air. Every which way she looked she was met with the same - trees, impossibly lovely flowers, and shadows and it was not long before Flora began to feel a frantic sensation bubbling up in her chest. Quiet, scarlet curl dusted feet ghosted across the foliage as silent as the breeze that rustled the leaves overhead though she could not feel the wind as she began to run. She tired quickly and whether it was the air or the terror that had begun to settle of the Hobbit, she could not be sure. Eventually, she slowed, her small frame sagging against the remnants of a hollowed out trunk and choked back tears while exhausted arms wrapped themselves around her knees.

     This forest twisted around his head, he knew it, for Tyelkormo had traversed many woods and understood them. He knew Melian’s girdle about Doriath, and he knew of darkness cast upon other lands. He understood and therefor was not afraid, but still he guarded himself. 

  The Captain tilted his head a slight bit. She … felt him? It was not very often he was told such, or even noticed in the shadows. Despite his larger form, he was still an elf of the trees. He could move through them fairly easily, and honestly, unnoticed. 

However, he moved forward from his place and cleared his throat lightly before speaking.

               “Do you … happen to need help, my lady?”

She was quite dirty and looked as if she needed help, so the Captain felt the need to ask.

                               𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐀 reached to feel the moss upon the log beside her. A satchel at her bare feet. Her  EYES  were unfocused, almost as if she was  DAYDREAMING  still with her little  SMILE .   ❝ I know the  SONG  of the trees and the flowers, everyone has one within. Yours is subtle yet distinct, ❞  she remarked, not yet answering his question. Then she intertwined her hands together and turned her head a little to the sound of his voice. 

‘ THE woods are treacherous, my son. ‘

With his father’s words still ringing in his ears, Legolas fights his way through another thicket of vines and tangled roots as tall as himself. Fool! How he had begged leave to lead this hunting party, preparing for the first feast of Spring.

And now he is lost. 

They had tracked a herd of deer to the very edge of Mirkwood, a dozen elves on light feet - now scattered like leaves in the wind. Legolas clutches his bleeding arm and curses his folly. Goblins roamed the border, and they had led themselves right into a trap! 

As he crosses a narrow stream, anger and determination gives way to a creeping fear, a dread curling its way up his spine. His ears twitch at every sound, chills running down his skin. 

The woods are treacherous. We may coexist with the trees, and love them for their shelter, but they have little care for us.

With a shiver he recalls the tales Galion had told, many summers ago, when the young prince had begged for stories. The dark things that live beyond the known. The lightning-marred one, the fear and the scent in the air. 

A silhouette in the gloom.

‘ Who goes there, ‘ he calls, voice thin and muffled between moss-clad branches. ‘ Who- ‘ 

Legolas stands still as stone.