A day

The sun was before the peak of it's arc, beginning it's descent towards the horizon's line, still hours away from reaching it and bathing the deepwoods of the Trollshaws with it's red light. The rays of still powerful sunlight pierced through the thick canopies, casting spots of brightness onto various areas of the woods. On the paths reigned dust, occasional traveler bold enough to cross the woods illuminated, only to fade into the dim light of the land as they passed eastwards. Off the beaten path, it shone upon once-magnificent ruins, of forts and cities and those that dwelled in. Be it graceful elves, passing through, scouring their forest for any servants of the Enemy, mere wildlife, foraging for food or stalking the foragers, a leaf falling atop a pile of mud, joining many of it's siblings atop it, an odd agent of the Eye, sneaking past the great stone walls, unaware of the arrow already loosened by an elven archer, hidden expertly in the formerly-mighty dwelling of old Rhudaur.

Past the peak of the sun's unrelenting travel, the light shone into unexpected places. It spared not a thick cobweb, illuminating it and warning a stray animal to it's presence, leaving the giant spider lurking behind it hungry and frustrated. It fell onto a stone head of a petrified troll, one of three in that glade, tales of which have been known far and wide as the land reaches, both in the elven refuge of Imladris, and as far west as in the idyllic Shire, people spoke of the three trolls that stood there, mocking their foolishness and the craftiness of those that stalled them until sunlight.
As sun arced lower, that light reflected in an arrowhead, almost invisible among the mud and leaves, however, that fortunate ray was just enough to alert a young stag, who jumped and just narrowly escaped said arrow's trail mere split second later, only having it's side grazed. Frightened, the animal bolted off, moments before a pile of leaves and mud stood up, groaning in frustration, and from discomfort caused by laying still for hours.

The sun traveled on, slowly turning red, preparing for it's well deserved rest, giving the reign of the night to it's twin, the moon. The red light pierced through the canopies, casting it's fading glory onto many a thing. Elven scouts, headed to their secluded camps and hideouts in the Rhudaur's sad remnants, or towards the fords, on their way home in Imladris. It shone onto an abandoned corpse, left to be torn apart by wolves, one wound on it's back betraying the cause of the spy's demise. It shone on the spider once more, as it spun some hapless prey in a thick cocoon of silk, storing the poor beast in the web for later. It shone upon a rock, extending far over it's brethren, creating a small semi-cave where a woman now dwelled, sighing as she rubbed a leg, gone numb from hours of lying motionless. The outlander would find no sustenance in the Shaws this day.

The sun hid behind the horizon, continuing it's journey across the dark side of the planet. The trollshaws, however, did not follow it into slumber. Soon, the roads and pathways thundered with heavy steps of the true rulers of the land, who gave the woods their name.

Moonlight shone through the trees, casting it's rays between the trees. They fell upon different things, illuminating them from the darkness of the wood. One fell upon a small head, attached to a disproportionally large body, trundling down the pathway and carrying a young stag, slain by a mighty blow to the head. The dead animal bounced on the lumbering giant's shoulder, insects gathering at the small gash at it's side, caused by a glancing strike.
The night-lords of the Shaws would feast well this night.