The little kitty lying by the pond had two primary moods: happiness, and boredom. Her life was quite simple in that aspect – she would wake up in the morning, find something to eat, start doing something, get bored, and go begin doing something else. So confusion was an alien emotion to Hattie, as she rolled around, annoyed that she couldn’t staunch this mental itch of hers. She had been thrown in this befuzzled state only a few minutes ago, when she’d tried to change into a bird – just so she could chirp along with the others. To the sage’s amazement, her magic failed her for the first time in her life; she heard no reply whatsoever when she begged her inner self, however it worked, to let her transform into “a cute little birdie”.

Now, she began to seriously question herself, something she had put off doing for the past years, gazing into her reflection, as if it would provide her with a clue as to her origins. It simply made no sense that, however hard Hattie probed her memory, her mind was a blank for the first few months, remembering life as always being this way. She had to have come from somewhere!

“Who…Am I?” she asked her reflection, half-expecting an answer. But the image stayed as silent and irresponsive as ever, mimicking the frustrated mage cat when she got up and paced out of the clearing, venturing farther into the forest as she mused quietly. She wondered if maybe she were the artificial creation of some mad alchemist, or maybe a human’s mind trapped in an illusion. But the random arguments were feeble, and easily broken by Hattie’s logic even as she padded along the undergrowth, dejectedly leaving the butterflies – which she would have chased at any other time- in peace. But – on a whim – she decided to see if her magic was back, deciding to change into an elf.

Hattie inhaled a deep breath of air and natural energy, and instantly knew that her magic was back. She had assumed the form of many creatures before, but somehow, this was a unique experience. Before, Hattie had always had in mind what she wanted to look like, the blueprints already there. But this time, her transformation was like, well, magic. From the beginning, the little cat hadn’t actually been in control of this strange power – but she could ask it for favors and it would conduct itself through Hattie, as if she were an instrument. This felt like that – as if some supernatural force had already laid out the plans and Hattie was simply executing the orders. Quickly, Hattie retraced her steps (stumbling every few steps. Curse these long legs! And how can you balance with just two?) and returned to the pond, eagerly wondering what her appearance was.

Hattie gave a sound that sounded like half a gasp and half a squeal – she was such an old woman! This wasn’t cute at all! She wanted to be a little girl, not…This! Tentatively, Hattie examined her elf body. She was definitely old, even for an elven woman, wrinkled with age and hunched over – clearly in need of a cane. Her eyes were as blue as the sea, dazzling even if set in such a weathered face, and framed with such frazzled grey hair. What stood out, however, was her clothes – Hattie marveled at the bright red robes she was wearing – how ornate it was – and at her intricate jewelry. But what fascinated the cat most of all, however, was the beaten hat atop her head. As if handling Arda’s greatest treasure, the old woman gently plucked it off her head, cradling it in her arms, examining it. It was a seemingly normal mage hat, its red paint fading and ripped in many places. But – she couldn’t quite believe it – there was a small tear near the front of the brim that she’d recognize anywhere. This was her own hat, except half a millennium younger!

((Sorry for the delay, but still unpacking.))

In the deepest reaches of the Misty Forest there stands a grand and beautiful old Oak, thick set, with roots that sprawled for a meter in every direction save up. Two great limbs hang down on either side; their ends sprawled into an almost hand-like assortment of branches. Near its top the bark is so gnarled and twisted it had formed a face-like structure, with knots for eyes and a great beard of moss. Higher still its branches fan out, giving it a proper canopy where a pair of birds had made their nest. But this was no ordinary tree.

Ghaladir had been there for over a week now, standing by the lake side and enjoying the cool muddy earth below him. But now something had disturbed his rest, something… small. And furry. A bear? Or a jaguar perhaps? No, this presence seemed too small. He thought it best to open his eyes. But as is the wont with Ents, this thought process and the action that it brought on took well over two minutes. By which time of course, the furry presence had left.

Alas thought Ghaladir as he settled down to rest once more. But just as his bark-lids began to shut, he felt the presence once more. Odd though; it was the same entity, but less furry. So Ghaladir halted his bark-lids where they were, allowing him to observe this strange being. halted his bark-lids where they were, allowing him to observe this strange being. Bt just as the being came into view, another thought crossed the great tree’s mind; recognition. A memory from long ago, nearly millennia stale, rushed back to him leaving a warm, happy feeling inside. A friend at last!

With a great creak Ghaladir raised his left leg from the ground, mud and water falling from the roots, only to be collected again as the great wooden limb crashed back down again. Soon, the second leg followed in much the same fashion, the great stride bringing him closer to his old friend. With much groaning and complaining from his wooden joints Ghaladir bent nearly in two, bringing his face down closer to the old druid. His long beard brushed the tip of her head, small twigs falling from it onto her.

“My, friend” he spoke, his voice a low grumble like the sound of rocks rolling down a hillside. On his face was the largest smile to be seen in all Ea.

(I think Ghaladir should have heard of Fayne’s death all those years ago. If not through a “disturbance in the force”, then through a passing druid or animal.)

A true druid is more than a servant of the natural world – she is an extension of nature itself, melting though the impossibly twisted forest with fluid grace. Despite her outwardly appearance as such a mage of the forest – or any type of natural terrain for that matter – Hattie gave an inhuman squawk when something nearby rumbled and began to move, before losing her balance and falling to the forest floor. The old elf flailed the whole way down, unaccustomed to all this weight that dragged her down so. Quickly, the sage scrambled to her feet, only to find herself in front of a humongous tree that hadn’t been there just a moment ago.

Most mortals would have taken a moment or two to realize the tree was in fact an Ent, as they slowly realized the gnarled old creature had limbs and even a beard. Not so with Hattie – the moment her chartreuse eyes fell upon him, she knew the nature of it, as its life energy was much more…active, for want of a more fitting term. Curiously, Hattie looked at the End, face alive with wonder as she touched the giant being’s bark. The faintest traces of recollection tugged at her, but whatever memories were calling for Hattie were out of reach, unable to be recalled at this point.

“Guh…Guh…Gah…” breathed the druid, failing to recall a name. Shaking her head in confusion, Hattie lapsed back into her congenial self. “You’re an Ent, right? That’s so awesome! Wow, I didn’t think I would meet a talking tree today! How’s the weather up there? How do you feel? What’s it like being a tree? It must get terribly lonely…”

Cool? Wow? Bad jokes? These were not the words of Fayne Rookwood at all…Or were they?

((I can't apologize enough for the delay, it won't happen again. I am back for good!))

It must have looked quite comical, the hunched giant of a tree bent over the frail old body of an ancient woman. But humor was not a thought that entered into the mind of Ghaladir at that moment. How was it that his fried had returned? He had felt her presence disappear a long time ago. The old druid was a much a part of nature as he himself was, they were one and the same. So how had she returned? Was it even possible? Or was it that this was some kind of illusion, a trick? No, he waved away the thought. He could feel her now clear as the daylight that fell between his leaves. He could remember quite clearly the last moment.

He had been naught but a young sapling, barely thirty in human years, with a small tuft of leaves atop his twig-like branches. He had not then the knowledge and wisdom he had now, a millennia’s experience between his two selves. It had been a good day; he had enjoyed standing in the very lake that lay beside him now, basking in the sunlight. But it was over now, the shadows lengthening as the sun began its slow descent behind the mountains. It was a long trek home for one so small, so Ghaladir had decided to call it a day. It was then that it happened.

Passing under the boughs of an ancient willow, screened from all the world, it happened. It was as if all the happiness and joy that had ever existed had suddenly slipped, been tugged away to leave nothing but emptiness; a void so deep it could never be filled. It lasted but an instant and as the feeling returned to his limbs, Ghaladir wondered what could have caused the awful moment. But he had not even enough time to gather his thoughts before it happened again, more prolonged and vivid. He bent double, sick to the core with the feeling of it. It was then he realized. Images of Fayne flashed through his mind, each one dwindling, dying, the joy sucked out of the treasured moments. It was her; Fayne. She was being tugged away from him, it was her life force that was disappearing. A final burst of nothingness later and it stopped. The memories settled, the feeling returned. Save for one small place, deep within him, that felt as if it would never be complete again. A piece of Life, of Nature, of him had been snatched away and he knew not how or why. Turning back to face down the mountain he bellowed out a cry that awoke even his sleeping ancestors.

Ghaladir’s eyebrows were knotted in concentration, puzzling out the riddle in his head. How had Fayne Rookwood returned after all these years? But it was not done to simply ask, he had to be polite.

“Fayne” he grumbled, “You are always supplied with the worst jokes in all of Ea.”

As he said each word, the smile on his face widened, the bark of his eyes flashing with joy. It mattered not how she had gotten back, just that she was back. He was reunited with his friend at last.