My musical laugh trickled through the air, our silent atmosphere having been destroyed by Pippin’s wonderful, wonderful idea. Since then Merry and Pippin had been constantly talking, telling us some of their most famous adventures over the years and all they trouble that they had caused the Shirefolks over the years.
“….. And then the firework exploded in our faces. Inside the tent!” Merry cried, doubling over to clutch his chest as his face reddened from laughter.
“You told me to stick it in the ground, and I did!” Pippin announced, his arms folded across his chest and his bottom lip sticking out as he pouted.
“I was outside!”
“Outside of the tent!”
“Well, you could have made that …”
“Boys,” I interrupted, raising my hands as I silenced their argument, “What happened next?”
“The firew….” Merry began but Pippin quickly overtook him.
“The firework exploded! It transformed into this giant, orange dragon and flew over the party. Everyone was screaming, cowering on the ground or running away. It almost got Bilbo and Frodo too!”
“Then the dragon just exploded into thousands of magnificent fireworks!” Merry finished, rushing his words to make sure that he could finish this important part of the story.
A chuckle left my lips as Pippin playfully glared at Merry, who smirked and tuck his tongue out in reply.
“Then Gandalf caught us!” Pippin wheezed, for he and Merry had started laughing uncontrollably once they broke their moment of anger, “We were covered in soot and burnt markers. He grabbed us by the ears just as we were about to go and get another.”
“He made us do the washing up. Us!”
Another laugh erupted from my throat, a very loud, unladylike laugh that caused me to instantly blush and cover my face with my hands. This caused the Hobbits to laugh even louder, and Pippin had to grip the side of Treebeard’s head tightly since he almost fell off of his shoulder.
“Oh shush!” I mumbled, looking down at Athae’s neck.
“What about you, Treebeard?” Pippin asked when he had stopped giggling, “Any fun stories?”
“We Ents have little adventures. We spend our lives watching over the forests. But there have been some. Like the woodpecker who tried to make his home in my neck. And those little family of field mice that climb up sometimes ad they tickle me awfully. They’re always trying to get somewhere where they …”
Yet he stopped before he could finish, the gasp he released disposed of the joy that filled his voice.
The sight in front of me stung my insides, filled e with unexplainable sorrow. As far as I could see, the ground was dry and scorched whilst thousands upon thousands of tree trunks covered the earth. Instantly, I leapt off of Athae’s back and sprinted towards the first trunks in my sight. Tears of anger burned my eyes as I placed a tender hand on the cold bark. Tightly I clenched my eyes shut and stretched out the threads of my mind to try to make some kind of contact with the soul of this suffering creature. But there was nothing. Its soul was empty; it was dead.
“Many of these trees were my friends,” Treebeard announced, distracting the Hobbits from my shaking figure, “Creatures I had known from nut and acorn.”
“I’m sorry, Treebeard,” Pippin mumbled.
“They had voices of their own.”
Athae nudged me in head into my shoulder in a sympathetic manner. I held onto her neck and softly wept into her mane.
“Curunír,” I growled almost silently, “What have you done?”
“Saruman?” Treebeard announced, hearing my words, “A wizard should know better.”
Anger that had pent itself up inside of me exploded as I rose to my feet and released a loud scream; pouring my raw emotions into this sound. Treebeard joined me in this scream, our voices mingling and becoming one as it echoed across the forest of Fangorn.
“There is not curse in Elvish, Entish or the tongues of Men for this treachery!” I spat, glaring at the Orthanc – that black tower of death – as it rose over the plains of Isengard.
“Look!” Pippin gasped, “The trees! They’re moving!”
A smug smile grew on my lips as I realised that it was my emotions, my raw power over nature that allowed these creatures to lift their roots and avenge their kin.
“Where are they going?” Merry asked.
I didn’t even turn my head to answer. Instead I unsheathed my dual blades and swished them around; the musical sound that filled my ears as I sliced the air filling me with an enormously satisfying sensation of blood lust, “They have business with the Orcs,” Spitting out the name of that filthy breed in disgust as I spoke.
“My business is with Saruman tonight with a rock and stone!” Treebeard informed whilst my ears picked up the sounds of hundreds of pairs of feet slamming into the moist forest earth.
“Yes!” Merry exclaimed as the creaking of splintered joints filled my ears.
“Come, my friends. The Ents are going to war. It is likely that we go to our doom. Last march of the Ents.”