“Oh I knew it. I simply knew it. I knew it the moment I stepped out of the doorway. I knew it. You idiot. Sometimes I wonder why I am the one living here, if I can’t even read a little weather.”
Radagast the brown was muttering to himself, while he held a tight grip on the handlebar of his wooden sled. It wasn’t snowing, however, but that didn’t matter. Radagast’s sled was built to travel on the bare forest ground. It was the fastest and the easiest mode of transportation here, although it could be a little bumpy.
“Faster, faster!” Radagast yelled to the rabbits pulling the sled. “Or else we’ll never get home before hell breaks loose.”
The rabbits did all they could. The two dozen brown, fluffy animals were hopping and skipping quickly over rocks, hills, gaps, fallen tree trunks, and mountains of dead leaves. Their ears were flattened and their heads bobbed up and down. They could sense it too; the weather was changing.
“Oh my,” Radagast muttered as his hat almost flew off his head. He quickly snagged it before it could fly away. The wind was picking up. The weather was always unpredictable in autumn, especially in the Greenwood. Thick clouds were gathering into dark cushions, trying their best to cover all of the Greenwood as fast as they could. Already there was lightning flashing in the east, and a vicious thunder followed it closely.
Despite the threat in the air, the Greenwood looked peaceful. Enormous trees and thick carpets of fallen leaves were scattered all around. They shone golden in the low sunlight, and the bark of the trees looked fresh and shining, or old and satisfied.
The sled made the sound of a hissing snake, as it glided smoothly over the leaves on the ground. The underbrush and trees flashed by, and Radagast had to duck when a thick, overhanging branch tried to decapitate him.
“Why did I have to go this far today?” Radagast furrowed his bristly, grey eyebrows in thought, as he tried to remember why exactly he wanted to venture this far into the Greenwood on such an unpredictable day as this. Then his eyebrows shot up as he sensed and remembered. “A disturbance in the energy,” he said slowly, as if he didn’t believe it himself. Radagast closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate on the thing he felt earlier this morning. The moment he had set a foot outside his home, Rhosgobel, he had felt something strange in the air. It wasn’t the scent of autumn in its attempts to help every tree get rid of its leaves to prepare for winter. It wasn’t the sound of the fluttering birds, the buzzing bees, or the rabbits scurrying around his cottage. It was something else. Immediately, Radagast had tuned in to the forest’s magical aura; the delicate spider web of magic interweaved with the earth, the trees, and even the animals. Radagast had concentrated on the connections of the life in the forest, traveling north, south, east, and west in his mind as if he were there. Then he had noticed something odd; something that shouldn’t be there. He hadn’t been quite able to put his finger on it—and he still wasn’t now—but he had a vague idea how it felt. It felt like a disturbance in the network, like a struggling fly caught in the web. Radagast could feel the ripples of it spreading through the forest. It felt subtle, but it was definitely there.
“Oh, yes. Now I remember…” Radagast said as he skidded over a wooded hill. Of course he had to investigate the disturbance. A disturbance often means an imbalance, and if there was anything Radagast was most concerned about, it was the balance of nature, the balance of the Greenwood.
The hill plunged down into a shallow valley, and Radagast had to concentrate and bend his knees for the impact. Of course he remembered this hill. It was one of Radagast’s favorite landmarks. He always called it Bald Boris, as it stuck out of the forest like a monk’s head, shaven only in the middle, and crowned with a few pine trees at the rim.
A sudden rumble almost made the wizard lose his grip, and he looked up in the sky. Between the entwining branches of the trees, he could see a grey strip right above him, like the edge of a dark blanket, or a lid which was about to cover a frying pan. The storm was close now. It had almost caught up. The wind was now making the trees whisper loudly. They whispered about how many branches they would lose, how bald they would become. Maybe they were ashamed, but Radagast didn’t know for certain.
The underbrush became more dense, and shrubs started to become more and more common, flashing by on either side. Soon there was a particularly sturdy-looking green wall of leaves, which blocked the path like a wall. Radagast could see the rabbits doubting, concerned as they were about their master. But Radagast gave a wave with his hand. “Don’t worry about it, my friends, I’ll be fine.” The rabbits picked up speed again, and dived through the bushes. The sled creaked, and branches whipped against the wood and slapped in Radagast’s face. He sputtered, coughed, and spit out a mouthful of leaves. “Tanglebrush,” Radagast said, “very poisonous.” Just to be sure, he wiped his tongue at his sleeve.
Luckily for Radagast, there weren’t any thorns, so he could speed on without further injury. The wizard knew that this part of the Greenwood wouldn’t be long, and he was right. After passing a shallow stream, cutting through the landscape like a silver ribbon (although Radagast knew that it would swell in might when the rain would come down), he entered more open and flat ground. A forest fire had burned here recently, as could be told by the streaks of black on dead, burnt remnants of trees. The ground was still thick with ash, and the sled skidded easily on it. Radagast drew a faint smile. Despite the haunting and somber atmosphere, he could only think about how this burnt-out piece of forest would look in a couple of years, when new, fresh shrubs and saplings would grow on the fertile, ash-strewn ground.
Suddenly, a lightning bolt flashed through the sky, immediately followed by a crackling boom. Radagast could feel as well as hear the thunderous cone of light striking the forest, and his body shuddered and jolted as if the lightning bolt had struck him right on the head. In the moment of shock, Radagast let go of the sled and fell backwards on the ashy forest floor. He rolled a few meters in a ball of black dust and burned leaves, then he lay still.
Radagast lay on his back on the ground, but quickly sat upright. His brown fur coat and cloak were covered in black, and Radagast coughed a few times. “Oh my! That was close,” he said. Looking around, Radagast saw the rabbits and the sled in the distance far off, but then smiled thinly despite the pain, as the rabbits were already returning to the place where their master—their friend—had fallen off. The sled came to a halt right beside the wizard, and some of the rabbits came close and sniffed at Radagast’s hands and legs, while others stood by and watched through tiny marble eyes.
“Oh, no need to be concerned,” Radagast said. “It isn’t the first time I have fallen off my sled, although I always hope that it is the last time.”
Indeed, Radagast wasn’t too hurt. At least he hadn’t broken anything. Slowly he scrambled up, careful not to strain any sore muscles or hidden bruises. Removing his hat, Radagast touched his head and flinched. There was a massive bump on his head, right next to the bird’s nest in which he let a few of his avian friends reside from time to time. “Well, I guess I’m going to feel that in the morning. Peter and Madeleine will have to be very careful up there.”
The rabbits hopped back into position, ready to cover the last leg of their trek. A muffled, distant thunderclap resounded, much farther away than the one which had surprised even Radagast himself. A droplet of rain fell down upon Radagast’s nose. He looked at the rabbits, jumping and stamping their feet. They were getting restless. They didn’t want to get wet either.
“Yes, yes,” Radagast said, “just a moment, please.”
Despite his rush mere minutes ago, Radagast wasn’t able to continue yet. He frowned his hairy eyebrows, and his forehead displayed deep, old wrinkles. Radagast thought about what had happened. He thought about that bolt of lightning. He had never been scared, or even so much as startled by a sudden lightning bolt. What had been so different or horrifying about that bolt, then? Radagast closed his eyes. The shape. Out of the corner of his eye, Radagast had seen the shape of the lightning bolt, even though it existed just a few seconds.
A few seconds? Lightning bolts don’t live longer than it takes to blink an eye. But it was longer than that, Radagast realized. Much longer.
“How strange.”
And the shape. The shape wasn’t like a crack in the bark of a tree, but it was like a long, bare, silver birch; a pillar of light. It had even shared the same color. Or hadn’t it? Radagast felt a headache coming up as he dug deeper into his memory. It all happened so fast.
“Yes, the color!”
It had been a pinkish hue, instead of the usual stark silver or warm yellow. It had been a pink lightning bolt, standing up straight like a column of light. “How strange,” Radagast said again. “How… unnatural.” Indeed, the only thing that was natural about it had been its thunderous sound.
The sound of stamping, impatient rabbit-feet made Radagast look. “Oh, of course,” he said. “You cannot read my mind.” Some of the rabbits stopped stamping and looked curiously at Radagast, no doubt wondering what he was thinking about. Suddenly, Radagast veered up and said, “My mind!”
The rabbits looked at each other in confusion. Maybe they thought that Radagast had lost his mind in the fall, which would explain a lot.
But Radagast wasn’t a fool. He sat down, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. Slow, careful breaths escaped his mouth. Under his eyelids, Radagast’s eyes twitched. His hands were folded together, but Radagast didn’t feel them. He was once more focusing his attention elsewhere; on the magic of the Greenwood. At first, there was not much. Only empty space around him, for the burned trees were dead. Next to him stood the rabbits, very much alive and filled with emotion; easy to detect by Radagast. The sound of a soft, swelling rainfall penetrated Radagast’s ears, but he held his concentration. He broadened his view. There was the lively—and annoying—underbrush to the east. There was Bald Boris even further east. There was the autumn-haunted forest region he had crossed. Then Radagast’s eyes opened with a jolt. They didn’t look at the surroundings. They didn’t look at anything in the physical world. And Radagast saw it.
There it was—or actually wasn’t. There was the disturbance. It felt like a hole in a paper map, or rather a hole in the magic of the forest. Radagast could feel and see the layers of magical energy growing thin, dangerously thin, around the gaping hole. The direction was clear; it was where the lightning had struck. There was no doubt about it.
Radagast opened his eyes. His vision retreated until he was back again with his five human senses. Radagast knew enough. He jumped on his sled. “Gee, gee! To the right,” Radagast called out, his voice harsh with urgency. For a moment, the rabbits looked at each other in confusion. Wasn’t that the way the storm was coming from?
“I know,” Radagast said. “But I have to see this first. We’re not abandoning the mission after all! Come on, rabbits, trust me. I promise you a nice, warm place by the hearth once we get home.”
That seemed to reassure the rabbits a bit, as the leader veered off to the right in a tiny cloud of ash. The others followed; some reluctantly, others more eagerly, knowing in their hearts that Radagast would be true to his word. On the back of the sled, Radagast wondered whether the reluctant ones could feel the disturbance as well; he didn’t ask them.
* *
The sled skidded once more through the forest, and the wind whipped against Radagast’s face, stroking his grey, wild beard. He had travelled for half an hour maybe, and the rain came pouring down the dark, clouded skies. It streamed down Radagast’s hat and soaked his otherwise warm fur cloak. The rabbits were having a bad time as well. The earth was wet and slick, and the muddy ground made it hard for them to keep the same brusque pace as before. Sometimes one of them slipped, but would also recover in the blink of an eye, only to continue the barren trek twice as vigorously as before—they were Rhosgobel rabbits, after all.
He was close now. Radagast could sense it. The rabbits could sense it too, he reckoned, as their pace slowed, if just a tiny bit. The forest around him now bore a somber, dark, wet aura, and the dead leaves, soaked by the rain, gave off an earthy smell. Had matters been normal, Radagast would certainly have enjoyed that odor. But now, with the disturbance almost visible as vibrations in the air, it only added to the ominous, tense atmosphere.
While the rain-drenched forest slid by past the hurrying rabbit-sled, Radagast’s mind wasn’t idle; it was racing just as quickly as his sled; it raced with thoughts. Radagast was wondering what in Middle Earth the strange disturbance in the magic of the Greenwood could be. The only time he had ever had a similar feeling was the time when Gandalf had been paying him a visit. Because Radagast himself didn’t like to travel, and his home in Rhosgobel was so far away from other settlements, Gandalf, his friend and fellow wizard, insisted on visiting him at least a couple of times a year, just to inform Radagast on the rest of Middle Earth. Had it been someone else, Radagast would have refused, but he often enjoyed Gandalf’s company. Drinking tea, talking about magic, the world, lore long lost and forgotten but remembered by the wizards’ minds. Yes, Radagast had had a similar feeling then. When Gandalf had entered the Greenwood, Radagast had sensed him. Gandalf appeared as a disruption in the forest’s magic as well, his power reaching out, interacting, and interweaving with the environment. The only difference was, that when Gandalf came, he only added to the Greenwood’s interconnected magical balance. The disruption Radagast had sensed in the burned part of the forest was a thinning of the web, not an amplification. It was as if a knife had spread the butter too thinly on a section of bread. Suddenly Radagast shuddered, and it was not of the cold winds.
A knife, he thought. What if it is indeed something—or someone— dangerous? Maybe orc raiders? Maybe wargs? But then he shook his head; a splash of water flew off his hat. No. It must be something or someone magical. Orcs don’t know magic, and neither do wargs. Then Radagast’s eyes opened wide. What if it is—he swallowed—black magic? Black magic cast over the forest to hurt it; to sap it from all its life. To feed on it like a parasite and damage it once and for all. Radagast thought about the burned forest. If it really was black magic, the forest could be damaged beyond repair. After a forest-fire, the Greenwood would mend itself and rejuvenate, for the ash is fertile and would sprout new plants; new life after death. With black magic, Radagast was sure that wouldn’t happen at all. Even though Radagast knew not much about the dark arts, he knew what it could mean for the Greenwood.
Radagast caught a dozen droplets of cold rain on his tongue and swallowed. Black magic… Suddenly he closed his eyes. He felt reluctance bubble up inside of him, accompanied by a slow, burning fear. He could turn around and go back, but at the same time he couldn’t. He was the warden of the Greenwood, and a wizard too. There was no going back, even though it might be dangerous. Radagast looked over at his rabbits, and saw that some were shaking and shuddering. Any other person would think that was because of the rain and the chill; a logical and certainly not a dumb assumption. But Radagast could feel the rabbit’s fear as well. He could feel their reluctance and worry. Radagast drew in a deep breath. “Don’t worry, my friends,” he shouted against the noise of the falling rain, “I am with you. I will look after you if times get tough. Trust me.”
Whether those words really reassured his companions, Radagast couldn’t tell. There was no time to find out, as he reached the destination.
The last few tree trunks swept past, the last bushes rustled behind the speeding sled, and one last bump made the sled rocket into the air and fly over the last shrubberies. Radagast clutched the handlebar as tightly as he could, but even he dared to cast a glance from underneath the rim of his hat to the creature or object that lay before him. He was still in mid-flight, but he could see what was there; the disturbance in the Greenwood.
* *
A blinding flash, pink and sizzling with magical energy, struck down on the Greenwood. It rattled and sparked in power, and was followed by an ear-splitting roar. Shaped like a column of pink magic, it left a searing, black mark in the leaves, smoking with small puffs. But it left something else too; something not native to Middle Earth in any way. Something, or rather, somepony.
A small mare—a pony—lay in the middle of a black pit, created by the impact of the rumbling energies just minutes ago. She didn’t look hurt, but her teeth were clattering like ice-cubes in a glass. Her tail swept nervously from side to side, before flopping down on the seared ground entirely. Breath came in shallow gasps. She used all the will she could muster to slow it down until it was just a soft, small wheeze.
“W-w-what happened?” the pony said, with a voice as shaky as her teeth. “I-i-is everypony ok?”
The forest around her was quiet, as if the trees themselves wanted to know who or what this creature was, and what she was doing in the Greenwood. Or perhaps they were silently congregating with one another, connected with the magic that made them stand straight. Congregating what to do with this strange intruder who made such a rude and noisy entrance.
Black wisps of smoke curled around the pony’s mane and tail into the air, and she coughed a few times. She then noticed that she herself was quiet as well—she couldn’t hear a thing.
“W-w-what’s going on with me?”
Suddenly, a high-pitched beep resounded in her ears and rolled through her skull. The poor little pony winced at the sound, covering her ears with her hooves. It didn’t work. Her face contorted in pain, as the sound reverberated a million times like a spiky bouncing ball through her head. The pain left little room for thoughts, but the pony still recognized the obvious fact that the sound of the column of light had deafened her.
And luckily for the pony, the deafening was temporary. After another agonizing minute, the sound lessened in volume, until it disappeared altogether. Carefully, the pony removed her hooves from her ears and tried to listen one more time.
The trees were no longer silent, but rustled gently, whispering amongst themselves. The wind was picking up. Small birds sang their names, the sound carried faster and faster around the trees of the forest. But despite their tweeting and chirping, the pony had no idea what the birds’ names where. She could hear the creaking of branches, moaning in the winds. A few dead leaves, disturbed by the drafts, rolled across the forest floor and against the pony’s legs.
Then the pony turned her head and looked down. At least, that was what she was trying to do. The moment she opened her eyes, however, she realized that her eyes were unseeing.
“I-I can’t see!” she said, her own voice sounding strange and frightened.
The world was a white haze before her eyes, no doubt another affliction thrown upon her by the pink lightning column. She tried to blink a few times, she tried to rub her eyes with her hooves, but her eyes remained blinded.
“Oh no! What is happening?”
The pony felt worry and anxiety leap upon her every nerve. She shook all over her body, and thoughts bounced through her head.
“W-w-what happened?”
No answer.
“The light! What was that? And the sound. Was it lightning, Twilight?”
“Twilight…?”
Again, no answer.
“Rainbow Dash? I-I-I didn’t mean to bump into you. Did I hurt you?”
But Rainbow Dash wasn’t there.
“T-T-Twilight? Rainbow Dash? Pinkie? Rarity? Starlight? Applejack?”
But the sounds of her friends’ names where the only things accompanying her.
Thoughts flashed through her head, trying their best to make sense of the strange things that had happened, and the strange place she was in now—she had to figure out where she was. The pony, scared as she was, forced her to concentrate on the few senses she still had; smell, touch, sound. She smelled a faint burning scent, but also something rotting and dead. Turning her nose in the wind, the pony sniffed and noticed the wet, anticipating air of a coming rain. A familiar smell, but it wasn’t right.
Then she felt the rolling leaves being blown against her body and sticking in her mane. That too, was something she recognized, but that too, wasn’t right.
And lastly, she heard the sounds of trees, plants, animals, shrubs, wood. All of them were sounds she had heard a million times before, but these weren’t appropriate either.
With a shock which traveled through her body all the way to her tail, the pony realized that she wasn’t where she thought she was.
“I am not in Ponyville anymore, am I?”
But there was no one who answered. She was alone in the Greenwood.
The pony lowered her head to the ground, felt the icky, damp leaves against her face. A single tear rolled from the corner of her hazy eye. “I want to go home,” she said, her voice stuttering and deformed. A sob made her shoulders twitch, and was soon followed by more. She felt her whole body going limp, and then she didn’t feel anything anymore as she lay there, crying on the ground.
It looked like even the weather felt her sadness, as a few droplets of rain started falling down from the greying clouds. Soon, the sound of a light rain echoed through the forest, and the wind picked up as well. The wind carried a stinging coldness; a coldness marking the end of autumn and the approach of winter. Maybe the trees felt sorry for the little pony, crying on the ground, as they rustled louder and louder in the swelling wind. They dropped their leaves, crying along with her. Perhaps they wanted to cover her underneath a thick, warm blanket to help her survive in the merciless nature. Soon, a whole heap of them stacked up against the flank and head of the pony, shaken only by the wind or the quiver of her belly when she sobbed.
At the rim of the black circle of burnt leaves, two squirrels gathered and looked curiously at the pony. Recognizing the sound of the scurrying animals, she lifted her head slowly and turned her ears in the direction of the sound. “H-h-hello? Can you help me?”
But even though she spoke so softly, the squirrels started and bolted back into the forest, no doubt searching for a better hideout against the storm.
“H-h-hello?” the pony said again, “are you there?”
But her words met only empty, windy air. She would never know what animals they were, or if they would indeed have helped her. She buried her face in her hooves again and cried, lonely once again.
The wind started blowing fierce. It grew into the child of the storm it would become. The sound of snapping branches filled the air, and the thud when they hit the ground echoed ominously. Even more water poured down the heavens, drenching the trees and the leaves and transforming the forest floor into a muddy bath.
Suddenly, the pony on the ground twitched her ears at a strange sound, coming directly in front of her nose. She heard the crashing and snapping of shrubs and branches. She heard a yell of surprise. Then she herself let out a yell. Whether it was in shock, a call for help, or a desperate sound escaping her lips, the pony didn’t know. She knew someone was there. She knew something was there. She heard the pattering of many feet or hooves or paws upon the leaves. It was a timber-wolf, a giant spider, a manticore, a horde of cockatrices, a flock of vultures. To the scared little pony on the ground, it could be anything. The endless thoughts of danger overwhelmed her. Her fight or flight instinct kicked in. She couldn’t fight or flight; she couldn’t see anything. The pony heard a big thud behind her. She smelled a strange odor. She felt the ground shake with the impact of something big and heavy. But lastly, she felt her body stiffen and a dark cloud bursting in her head. Then she felt nothing anymore.
* *
“Oh my! Oh my! What have I done!” Radagast said, as he circled around and stopped the sled right next to the little horse.
Despite the strange colors she bore, Radagast knew that it was a horse, a pony in fact. He knelt down beside her, looking to find her eyes.
“I hope I didn’t scare her,” he muttered, judging by her pastel coloring that the horse was indeed a mare.
A sudden lightning bolt crackled behind him, and Radagast startled. It wasn’t because of the lightning bolt however, but because he saw the pony’s two wings. In his long life as keeper of the plants and animals of the Greenwood, Radagast had never seen such a strange creature. A pony… with wings.
“How remarkable,” Radagast said, but he couldn’t hear his own voice above the wind, which was now roaring through the woods. Suddenly, a big branch snapped off its father tree, and it crashed down right next to the unconsciousness pony and the wizard.
The rabbits, standing behind Radagast, couldn’t take it anymore. The front of the herd bolted off, heading back the way they had come through the bushes. The back few rabbits saw their compatriots go and poked their noses against Radagast’s cloak.
“Not now, I am—“ he began, turning around. But when he saw the rabbits move out one by one, he realized what was going on. Quickly he turned back to the horse, scooped her up, and placed her carefully on the back of his sled. With the realization that she was much lighter than he had expected, Radagast used the remaining seconds to throw a rope around the animal, securing her—hopefully—against the wooden board.
The moment Radagast placed his hands on the handlebar, the sled shot forward. Radagast didn’t need to give any commands to his pets, as he knew all too well where the scared little rabbits were going to; back to his home. Back to Rhosgobel.