A young man strolled through the woods, taking in the scenery. The leaves, crunching beneath his leather boots, had already changed from their brilliant green to warm hues of red, orange, and gold. As the sunlight filtered through the few remaining ones that held tightly to the branches, John smiled. In his opinion, the beauty of nature was enough to make anyone happy, even if they were in such a predicament as his. All he wanted was to write a book series. He’d had so many ideas (ideas he thought were wonderful!), but they had all been shot down by family and friends. He wanted something better, something that people would grow to love as much as they loved themselves.  

John was so lost in his thoughts that he barely even noticed when the sun faded behind the clouds, and the wind picked up. A twig snapped behind him, but he didn’t even bother to glance back. He just had to think of something. Then came the growl. It was a deep, guttural sound that chilled him to the bone and sounded unlike anything he’d ever heard before. Slowly, dreading what he would see, John turned around.  

A huge, wolf-like monster lurked in the shadows of a great oak tree. Its eyes glowed with... something. Curiosity? Hunger? John couldn’t tell. He was frozen with a deep fear that made it almost impossible for him to think clearly, much less yell for help. The beast made the noise again, and he forced himself to stumble backwards. But the thing didn’t advance, and John started to calm down. As it once again growled, he cocked his head to the side, becoming curious. It almost sounded like it was trying to tell him something. But what? What was the thing trying to say? Suddenly, it jerked forward. John, his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest, lunged away, but the monster caught him by the leg.

Screaming, he fumbled around for his pocketknife as he fell to the ground.  He held it up, and for a moment the beast was still, and all that could be heard was their heavy breathing. John looked into its large, brown eyes and saw a deep sadness there, as if it had seen too much, too many things in its lifetime, like it had been through a war. John could relate. He'd seen that same look in the eyes of soldiers returning from the battlefield.

And then the moment of calm was gone. The animal jumped on top of John, knocking him to the ground, and sank its pointed teeth into the flesh of his upper arm and shoulder. He screamed, jabbing the knife over and over again into the thing's neck until finally it fell over.

As he felt himself go into shock, he glanced at the wolf-like creature one last time. He noticed that on one of its paws, the name Rùmil was branded, followed by some fancy, swirling characters in what was obviously another language.

For what felt like hours, he lay there as the animal's saliva started coursing through his veins. Deciding he was delirious, he ignored a certain part of his brain. He ignored the over-actively creative part, telling him about something called a Hobbit and a Ring of Power. He thought about Elves (a specific one named Fëanor) and an evil being known as Morgoth with a servant called Sauron. He thought of a place---Middle-Earth, and its inhabitants. And he dismissed it all as insanity, his brain making things up after his fright. Dimly, he thought, Why couldn't I think of all these ideas before the monster came? I definitely won't remember any of them tomorrow. And with that, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien lost consciousness.