The Red Leaf Inn
Tucked in under the trees along the Old Forest Road, just inside the western edge of the Mirkwood Forest, this quaint old inn is a welcome respite for weary travelers. However, its unique architecture of branches for beams and leaves for the thatched roof make it easy to miss.
Of course, there are those that claim it moves from place to place, but that's an old wives' tale told by those who couldn't find it. As if that makes them seem less stupid.
Radagast sat at a table by the side window. He was actually hard to spot, looking like a part of the architecture. Twigs and leaves poked out from his hat (or was that just his tangled hair?) and clothes, and an occasional small furry creature peeked out from a pocket.
As he smoked his pipe, he stared out the window... or was he staring at something far more distant?
A chipmunk suddenly ran down his arm onto the table, looked around curiously, then sat up and chided Radagast. It took almost a minute of this to get the wizard's attention.
"I feel the same, Pico," he replied to the chipmunk, even as he reached into a pocket and fished out some nuts.
"The land... the land is wounded... bleeding... we have to stop it! And so we shall." He cocked his head to the side as if listening.
"They come. I knew they would. It is their land, too. We will not abide a dark and twisted wood where only foul things live!"
"The Greenwood must be returned."
Not for the first time did he wonder why the folk had stopped calling it that. Had it been dark for that long? A shadow here, a darkness there... dusk falling and then never quite going away. It had been gradual, ever so gradual, slowly, creepingly slowly... creating a toehold for the Necromancer. He was gone now, driven off by Gandalf, but his dark influence continued to linger and grow...