This part of the forest was burnt to the ground, and the stench of
burning lingers in the air. The soil is barren, bare; rising in a
cloud of black dust as I work.
I feel the destruction of the trees in my heart, their suffering as a
physical pain. Yet still I work; digging, planting, watering,
tending; so that the forest may grow again.
I turn to the last scorched patch of earth, and stop in awe. A
shoot of green is growing – unplanted, unwatered, untended, but growing
It is a sign. Though all seems lost, life remains.
Author's Note: This is from Thranduil’s POV, and was written for
the ‘Earth’ challenge at Tolkien Weekly.