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|No Birdsong in Fangorn|
The world of Arda was one that others might call a world of fantasy, of elves, dwarves, hobbits, goblins, wizards and orcs, the promise that such a world actually existed seemed to be minuscule at best and impossible at worst for those who did not travel far from their home. But it was perhaps the world of imagination that was the most likely possible, especially within the vast expanse of space and time. With seemingly infinite worlds beyond the stars one could potentially meet anything, so who was to say that our own dreams were not a reality somewhere in that infinite?
Lesley Surin stood on the hilltop near the hut in which she lived, she had chosen this place for it's expansive foraging potential and the river conveniently ran nearby. She had hoped some time ago that there she might figure out the cure for her ailing world, the illness that had claimed many took hold with fever and cough, and it seemed it affected everything that breathed air. She had retreated to the mountains to seek the remedy and found it in the flower simbelmyne, but when she had searched for others to cure... it was too late. Many were gone or past saving, and Lesley wandered the long roads of many realms and towns only to find that she was the soul survivor. That fate should play such a cruel trick on her seemed surreal and she often thought for some time that she was in a bad dream, or that she had somehow done something to anger the Valar, the gods of her world, to condemn her to this last bit of torture.
The only thing that kept her going was the efforts to preserve her world's history, especially in that of her father's kin. She was a dwelf, half of dwarf and of elf blood, daughter of a renown dwarf craftsman Narvi and granddaughter of the elven lord Celebrimbor. Her beliefs in the halls of Mandos as an afterlife and the prospect of Durin some day waking once more from his slumber to rekindle the line of dwarven folk spurred her on to try and document, bury and honor anyone and everyone she came across, be they dwarf, elf or hobbit kind. This, of course, seemed a futile effort, a mere dent could not be made by a single person, but though it seemed an impossible task, she took it on, her survivor's guilt compelling her towards the work that gave her a purpose as an amends to her failure to her world.
The horizon seemed red in the dusk of evening, she was searching for something to eat, some plant matter of some sort, as there was no animal life left, there was not even a birdsong to hear. Surprisingly the plants were not affected by this ailment that hung over Middle-Earth, and she was able to find some wild garlic and mushrooms. Carrying them in a basket she paused in her step, about to make her way home when something caught her eye. What she could only surmise as a piece of the horizon's painting falling from the sky was actually a shuttle, she was unaware that beyond the stars someone had taken an interest in her lonely world, and that they had some trouble transporting to the surface of the Mithril riddled planet, for even the small craft seemed to struggle with the pull of the metal's field. As the shuttle came down at a great speed to disappear behind the trees of Fangorn Forest she stared with wide eyes, uncertain what magic had suddenly come to play. Is this the awakening of Durin? She thought to herself as she startled and began to run towards the forest, her curiosity and the need to help governing over her caution as she made her way to the place she last saw the vessel.
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