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This is fine, you thought, picking your way through the underbrush. Totally not creepy or dark or scary in any way. Nope. All good here. Normal. Perfectly normal and cool. I’m not scared. It’s not likes there’s huge spiders lurking in these woods. None of those.
The thorns scraped at your hands and burrs clung to your shirt and pants. Night was falling, and Mirkwood was dark enough during the day that you didn’t really want to know what it would be like at night.
You heard a strange rustling noise coming along the path behind you, but when you turned around there was nothing but an old man in grey. “Who’re you?” you asked cautiously, looking at him.
“That depends,” He replied, looking back at you calmly. “On who you ask.”
“I’m asking you,” You replied, edging further down the path away from him. He didn’t move any closer, just stayed put and leaned on his staff.
“Well, I think that one of my more popular names is Gandalf, so you may call me that, if you wish. I am also alright with Mithrandir, if that suits you better.”“Right,” You said, stopping and holding still. “Ok. I’m [name]. Nice to meet you, I suppose.”
“You too,” He said, smiling at you. “Have you a place to stay for the night?”
“I do not,” You admitted. “But that’s alright, I’ll be out of these woods before morning.”
“You will not be,” The old man–Gandalf–said simply. “Not from where you are now, that would take days. Sit down.”
“I- what?” You frowned and took another step back and away as Gandalf sat down on a little bare patch right next to the trail. “No, thank you. I’ll be going.”
“I didn’t ask,” He looked at you from under bushy eyebrows.
“You’re awful bossy, considering as we’ve just met,” You said, but you sat down next to him anyway. Well, several feet away, but near enough for conversation.
“So I’ve been told,” He chuckled a bit and lit a small fire. “What are you doing out here, eh?”
“I’m wandering,” You shrugged and pulled some bread out of your pack. “Yourself?”
“Much the same, though I do have a destination. Have you heard of a land called The Shire?”
“I’ve heard of it, yes,” You said, munching on the bread. “That’s where the Halflings live, if I am not mistaken.”
“You are not,” He nodded and pulled out a wooden thing. “Though they prefer to be called ‘Hobbits.’ Have you any pipeweed?”
“Any what?” You frowned. “The hell is a pipeweed? And what’s that wood thing?”
“A pity,” Gandalf said sorrowfully. “I have not had a good smoke in too long.”
“Are you going to answer my questions?”
“How many are you going to ask?”
“As many as I see fit,” You finished your bread and folded your arms. “What on earth is a ‘good smoke’?”
“Smoking is a practice of the hobbits,” Gandalf began, and explaining everything you had asked him about. It took ages, and before long you found yourself dozing off.
Maybe woods aren’t too bad, sometimes.