Fourth Age 1500

“The elves must have done it,” said the ranger.  “Does it not seem like something they would do?”

“Yet they left this land—thousands of years ago, I had thought!”

The ranger chuckled.  “There is plenty of debate on that point, as you know.”  He pointed a dark hand at the crest of the trees.  “See, if they had grown together, the bark should have melded.  Can’t you imagine an elf, singing to them, coaxing them to grow nearer?”

“Why?”

“Eh?”

“Why would he do that?”

“Why did elves do anything?  They liked trees?  They thought it would be pretty?”

“They thought to leave us mortals a pretty puzzle when we happened upon it, years later?”

“Pity, really.  They probably would have started growing together if they’d lived any longer.  Look how tightly they’re wrapped.”

His companion laughed.  “That’s probably just an illusion.  I suppose you could go and find out, but I doubt you’d want to climb that high on a couple of dead trees.”

“If I could even sink my pitons into them without their wood splintering?  No, you’re right—the boughs would give out.”  He peered a little more closely at them.  “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen this kind of oak so far south.”

“Well, if the elves did everything the way you seem to think, maybe they planted it, too.”

“Not like them, but perhaps they did.”

“I’ll bet the animals love them, though.  Think we could tease out a few squirrels for supper tonight?”

“Probably.  But I don’t want to.  Somehow it seems wrong.”

A chuckle.  “Superstitious, the lot of you.  Have it your way, but don’t go bellyaching tonight if we don’t get enough meat.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They walked onward and left the trees to rot in each other’s branches.