It is the 41st day of Echuir
In the 3017th year of the Sun^[1]
Of the Third Age of Middle-earth

No stranger has come hither since our unlooked-for Golodh guest, Aranyo Taurosso, late in Iavas. In the days that have since passed, the golden winter leaves of the beech trees have fallen, and their silver boughs are clothed in tapered buds waiting to unfurl in the first warmth of Spring. But today there came yet another strange visitor to the Woodland Realm... or perhaps I should indeed say two visitors, for he was not alone, but brought with him an even stranger prisoner who is now confined within the nethermost dungeons of the Elvenking's Halls.

This visitor was a Man, but unlike the only other man I have beheld before in our forest realm, for he was no escaped thrall seeking aid and refuge from orcish raiders, nor was he like the Men of the Long Lake whom I have met. Tall and lean he was, his grey eyes cold and stern; he was girt with longsword and dagger and he bore a hunting bow upon his back.  And though his garb was travel-stained and his face grey with weariness, he was no wayward traveller lost within our deep wood, for he strode forth with purpose, undaunted, and knew well the path upon which he trod; indeed, this was a man who had travelled aforetime through our greenwood, though I knew him not.

I was not the first to mark his coming, but I hearkened to the warning whistles of the marchwardens who watch over the borders of our realm; for though I am not of their number, I oft perch amidst the branches of the warding trees that overlook the misty paths leading to our abode. Thus unseen, I watched him stride heedless through the leaves that lay thick upon the forest-floor, and although he was clad in high leather boots his feet made little sound; and he paused and listened to the marchwardens' signals with a grim smile, as if he knew that the calls came forth not from the throats of birds but the lips of Elves. And although I could see he was skilled in wood-craft he moved without stealth, for he was hindered by his burden: a wriggling hempen sack upon his back, so noisome that even high above the path I wrinkled my nose at its unwholesome reek. And all the while his prisoner within hissed and spat foul curses at his captor.

As I watched he halted under the twisted branches of a gnarled oak and lowered the sack to the ground. From beneath his dark green cloak he withdrew a thick stick of dried meat and untied the rope that held closed the sack's neck. At once a thin pale arm lunged through the opening, and long grasping fingers reached for the man's throat... but with a dour laugh, he swept the hand aside and thrust the arm back into the confines of the sack, then dropped in the meat. Its rasping voice cried, 'Misery misery! Wicked, nassty Man. We hates it forever!' Tightly retying the knot, the man shouldered his cumbrous bundle and walked onwards, and I followed through the treetops. The sounds of it devouring its meagre meal filled me with revulsion.

I know not the nature of this wretched creature, but it spoke the Common Tongue so it is no beast, and coming nigh the Halls of the Elvenking it cried out piteously when it felt the elven wards that shield our home.
   ‘It hurts us, it hurts us,’ it whimpered, 'Nasty cruel Elves live here, fierce Elves with bright eyes! Aghh! It burns! It burns us... it freezes... '
My kin say that it is tainted by an ancient evil, and none can tell wherefore it has been brought hither; but it is not unknown to the Woodland folk, for I am told it was tracked through our forest some sixty years ago, yet it was not caught. The wood was full of the rumour of him, dreadful tales even among beasts and birds, but at the western edge of Mirkwood the trail turned away and wandered southwards, and then was lost.

The man, it is said, is a "Ranger" and a foe of the Shadow that dwelt upon a time within Dol Guldur. I knew naught of these Rangers nor whence they come, but I have learned that they are the last remnant of a diminished people, strange folk who wander secretly in the northern wilds of Eriador, the wide lands west of the Hithaeglir; but if their purpose is to oppose the Defiler of our forest then I will fain call them friend!

[1] While the published "The Tale of Years" in Appendix B of The Lord of the Rings places the capture in the year T.A. 3017, in the Unfinished Tales: "The Hunt for the Ring" this event is said to take place in T.A. 3018. It seems that JRRT changed the date to allow Gandalf more time to arrive in Hobbiton. However, this would mean that it took the Elves of Mirkwood 17 months to report Gollum's escape at the Council of Elrond, which seems to me unlikely. I've therefore used the ToY date for his capture and the UT date for his escape.

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