Davus sat quietly, overlooking the Brandywine. The journey had been perilous, but surely the worse was behind him. He had foolishly wandered the barrows, chasing an ominous light, and had found himself refuge in the trees to the west. Only they had not truly been a refuge at all. He looked out at the river, calming his thoughts as it flowed, the trickle filling his ears, and reached into his pocket, grabbing a tin whistle and his notebook, for words stirred within him.
The Downs were cold, the Downs were vast,
They echoed words of Ages past,
The fire light kept us warm,
From foolish roads travelled on.
When daylight came, we wandered west,
Into the trees in search of rest,
But beneath those boughs none could be found,
Darker than pits underground.
The trees they creaked, the boughs sunk low,
The crickets shrieked, the river flow
Was soft and still, but beckoned me,
To rest beside a willow tree.
I felt a song within my head,
Soft and smoothing, calling to bed,
But I remembered the chill on the wind,
The voice on the Downs, beckoning.
Forests usually smell crisp and clear,
Filled with grass, birds, and deer,
But nothing here moved within sight,
Saved dreadful spiders, and fire flies.
I wandered West as best I could,
Following paths through that strange wood,
If you blinked the path would change,
The road before you rearranged.
Finally I found a withered hill,
Nothing moved, the wood was still,
The trees retreated from the glade,
As if afraid to fill the space.
A tunnel I found further on,
I found my freedom further along,
To find myself by the Brandywine,
Relief can finally ease my mind.
I’ll spend this night beneath the stars,
Watching the lights twinkle afar,
No longer will I wander wild,
I’ll keep to the paths, at least for awhile.
He sighed, put his tin whistle and note pad down, and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. Moving trees and fell ghosts whispering upon the air; he was fond of tales, but this night at least, he wished he had none like that so chilling to recall or tell.
“Not my finest work for song” he muttered to himself, “but I have no urge to re-experience in order to correct it”.
- sung to the same beat that Sam's song about Bilbo's trolls is sung -
