Chapter 3 - Elven curiousity

Not far from the hidden valley of Imladris, the air changed. The oppressive weight of the ancient forest gave way to a breeze that smelled of heather and sharp mountain water. But for the Elven scouts of Rivendell, the peace had been disturbed by something inexplicable.

They appeared three days ago. Great, shaggy beasts with horns like the crescent moon and eyes as dull as river stones. They do nothing but low and graze.

{Adjusting his silver-green cloak} They are not of this Middle-earth. No record in our lore speaks of a beast that is part ox, part mammoth. Yet, they are peaceful. They harm only the grass.

Suddenly, the Elves tensed. A rhythmic thud-thud of boots on soft earth approached.

Out of the thicket stepped a young man wearing a bizarre suit of wooden slats—a Log Suit that looked both primitive and remarkably sturdy. He carried a flint-tipped Spear and a Backpack.

Oliver stopped at the edge of the clearing. His eyes widened, and a grin broke across his face.

No way... actual Beefalo.

He didn't see the Elves hidden in the trees. He only saw the massive, hairy rumps of the herd. To the Elves, these were mystical anomalies. To Oliver, they were the most beautiful organic fertilizer factories in existence.

He walked toward the nearest beast. The Beefalo gave a low, vibrating huff, its tail swishing. Oliver didn't flinch. He knew the "aggro" range by heart. He reached down and began picking up the large, steaming mounds of dung scattered across the grass.

The Elves watched in stunned, horrified silence from the shadows.

Is he... a madman?

He is a Man of the South, by his look. {His brow furrowed in utter confusion} But I have never seen a Man handle such... waste... with such enthusiasm. What could he possibly want with it?

Oliver was muttering to himself, his "pro player" brain calculating the yield.

[Thought: This is high-quality stuff. With this much Manure, I can fertilize at least six Improved Farms. It's so much more efficient than traditional composting.]

He stuffed the last of the waste into a specially lined compartment of his backpack. He patted the side of the Beefalo, which ignored him entirely.

Thanks, big guy. Stay safe.

With his mission accomplished, Oliver turned on his heel and disappeared back into the denser woods, moving with the confident stride of a man who had just struck gold.

High above, the Elven scouts stepped out onto the branches, staring at the spot where the human had been.

{With strong suspicion} We must follow him. Any man who travels these dangerous woods alone, dressed in timber and collecting the filth of strange beasts, is no ordinary traveler. We must see where he is going.

******

The sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow over the clearing where Oliver's mansion stood. To the hidden Elven scouts following him, the sight was a shock. In the middle of the wild, untamed forest sat a structure of impossible precision, surrounded by strange, clicking machines and a perfectly tilled plot of land.

Oliver didn't look like a nobleman or a warrior now. He looked like a focused laborer.

[Thought: With science machine, I can quickly produce a basic farm, I just simply lacked Beefalo manure. After farm is created, all I need is seeds.]

The science machine, after getting all materials immediately constructed the basic farms on tilled plot of land. The entire process is like magic to eyes of elves who followed Oliver.

We know about manure and compost, perhaps those wastes are same. But what surprise me more is about him treating those waste like gold. I mean therer are many alternatives, why those beasts of all creatures?

Perhaps those creatures are not mere beasts. I wonder if their waste has some hidden power, we are unaware about.

You think about the wastes? I am more interested about that strange box with wheels and a rod. That thing allowed him to create a farm quickly, bypassing the regular methods to build a farm.

While the elves were discussing. Oliver wiped sweat from his brow, oblivious to his audience. He planted the seeds and used a bucket to carefully water the mounds. As he finished, he stood back, admiring the row of basic farms.

{Nodding to himself} That should do it. By tomorrow, I'll have enough carrots and corn to start a Crock Pot cycle. No more berry-picking marathons.

He gathered his tools, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked toward the heavy wooden doors of his mansion with science machine he is carrying with his hands. With a soft click of the latch, he disappeared inside to rest, leaving the clearing in a heavy, thoughtful silence.

The Elven commander signaled his team to retreat. They melted back into the trees, moving with a sense of urgency they hadn't felt in years.

Hours later, they stood in the starlit halls of Imladris, before the seated figure of Lord Elrond.

My Lord, we found those beasts everyone was talking about.But more importantly, we found the one who follows them. A Man, dwelling in a house using a strange machine we never saw before.

Elrond looked up, his ageless eyes narrowing.

A Man? In the High Forest?

A Man who harvests the waste of these unknown creatures, he wear suit of timber and a primitive spear, but he has strange machine that allow him to use materials and wastes of those creatures to build a farm, without needing to use his own hand, the strange machine magically construct it for him. We do not know if he is a friend to the earth or a student of the Dark Tower.

Elrond stood, his gaze turning toward the mountains.

A master of both the soil and the shadow is a rare thing in this Middle-earth. We shall watch him. If he is a harvester of life, we may find an ally. If he is a harvester of corruption... he is a threat we cannot ignore.