Think Of A World Without Any Harvest

The harvest was scant that year.  As the shadow of Dol Guldur grew ever closer and darker, little grew in the forest – small hard apples formed but never ripened, and berries remained sour and green.  Bitter black mushrooms grew in the shaded glades and in the fields all crops withered and died.

Only one thing grew in abundance, sprouting overnight in grass and beneath trees, in glades and on river banks.  Brightly coloured toadstools flourished and thrived in the poisoned earth, bringing terrifying hallucinations, agonising cramps, and – finally – a welcome death.

There would be no blessing from Yavanna this year.

(Written for the Tolkien Weekly 'Famine' challenge)