A double-drabble inspired by heavy snowfall one December day in southern England. Dark places can be made very light by a fall of snow, and one Wood-Elf intends to enjoy it.
The forest is a world turned suddenly white; every branch, every blade of grass weighted and sparkling with winter's blessing. He walks soundlessly on top of the snow, feeling it compacting beneath his boots. At the edge of a clearing he comes face to face with a fallow doe; they regard each other gravely, her huge long-lashed brown eyes meeting his grey-blue fearlessly. At last she blinks at him and steps delicately away into the trees. The rising sun washes the glistening drifts rosy-gold; the forest is utterly quiet, and when a bird landing on a branch dislodges a fall of snow, even that soft thud sounds unreasonably loud.
For this one morning Mirkwood's gloom is gone, buried beneath pure white snow, and Legolas' heart sings.