Fimbrethil stared blankly at the creature before her, who looked back intently. It was too small to be a man, but too... childish-looking to be a dwarf. What was it? She wondered. Glancing ahead of her, she could see her fellow Entwives, who took no notice of her lollygagging and kept on walking. All of them were determined to reach the sea by sundown. Looking back at the creature, she thought of how to solve this problem. Do not be hasty! She told herself, repeating over and over the Ent's motto. What should I do with it, if anything? Bring it with us? Crush it? Do not be hasty! Do not be hasty! But it seemed that hasty would have served the situation well, for the creature turned at that instant and fled. Fimbrethil sucked in her breath. It was gone, gone to tell others of her. Quickly, she rushed off (which was more like hopping than running) and joined her sisters.
"Where were you, Fimbrethil?" an Entwife named Dendrinil asked her, "off exploring on your own sweet time?" Fimbrethil shook her head and gagged. Her friend smelled like ash, and all because of that stupid war that had taken a toll on the Wives' beautiful gardens. The once-pretty plants of the plants and flowers were now mounds off ash, being swept away by winds as they lay in the now-desolate Brown Lands. The Entwives had barely escaped with their lives. Dendreinil, actually, took the worst. She had burn marks on her trunk and a few of her twigs were gone.
"Anyway," the other Entwife continued, "Galien (the Entwife leader) has just sent a scout ahead to see if we're close to the ocean. She came back five minutes ago and said that we are only 10,000 Ent-strides away. We must be getting close." Dendrenil was right. Fimbrethil could smell the ocean.
"What shall we do once we reach the shore?" a third asked.
"Is your head full of sap, Thethoria?" Dendrenil snapped, turning to face her sister. Thethoria was one of the smaller and younger Entwives, and, being immature, often asked imprudent questions. "We can float, can't we?" A few minutes later, Fimbrethil looked out upon the ocean, staring at the blue water as her sisters dove in. She looked back. She was leaving Middle-Earth, her gardens and her friends for good. Sighing, she jumped into the ocean and started to float away. She would never touch Middle-Earth soil ever again.
500 Years Later:
Fimbrethil sat on grass, staring out at the open sea. After a week of floating, her and her sisters had landed on a lovely little island, one that was deserted. The Entwives had made their own colony and had populated the little land with plants and trees. For 500 years they had lived there, alone and content. Fimbrethil sighed. Though she wouldn't admit it to anyone, she missed her home, Fangorn, and (by Root and Stem!) even the Ents. This paradise seems like a prison, she thought sadly, keeping me from everything and everyone I love! She made up her mind to go, but never got the chance. In the year 501 of the Wife-Colony of Entia (the name chosen for the island), Fimbrethil died of an infection in her roots. Alas! She had died in sadness, regret, and discontent. And the other Entwives? They stay contented on their island to this day, promising never to set trunk or twig on Middle-Earth again.