In the very depths of the forest, a short person sat sharpening his axe. Gimli sat there waiting for something to come. Then he heard a twig snap, he stood up, his axe glistened in the sunlight, his beard flew in the wind. A troll came rampaging out and with one quick movement the troll was on the floor. No sound. No movement. His axe dripped with blood. He sat there transfixed on the bushes swaying from side to side. He knew something was going to happen.
As the sun rose, the sky lit up and covered Hobbiton in a bright glow. A small figure sat on a great rock watching, listening. He sat in an awkward position so he would not harm himself on the axes scattered around him, or the one he was wiping blood and guts off, held in his hands. His eyes were far away but you could still see the alertness and bravery. The bald top of his head was shiny in the bright sun, while the hair on the side of his head and beard was tousled by the gentle wind. His axes were his prize possession, made of the most expensive silver in Middle Earth and the rarest wood in Hobbiton.
As the clock struck midnight, darkness shadowed the land. The twilight shone through the forest mist, lighting the secret pathway. Riding through the trees, a caped figure snuck bravely around the cave. Every hoof, every stride, terror trembled and echoed through and out into the distance. Masked, the evil Ring Wraith, cantered through the night. He waited for no one and nothing could get in his way. Steady and ready, it was time.
In a small house, near a castle, a dwarf sat wiping blood off his axe. With a glare in his eye, Gimli began to sharpen his blade. The small man had a long red beard and a gold helmet. Blood was dripping from his face as he was preparing for the madness that was coming.