Marta asked for little-written races. I don't know if this quite counts – I tried really hard to make the analogy work in two hundred words – but it's at least an underwritten perspective in Tolkien's world! Happy birthday, Marta!
Her forefather was born in Valinor, strong land that makes strong sons: in life and in death, forever faithful to the Valar, trustiness that breeds true all through his line. Daughter of a loyal lineage, she, too, would have been faithful to her mother's land and its people, but she had no chance. She will not grow to fullness in her mother's shadow, for they betrayed her on the cusp of her birth.
But she will grow. In the dreamtime of the womb, he comes to her, savior of her kind, and in the innocence of her first flowering, she breathes gently upon him, returning life for life, and more beside.
Alas, Men forget the strength of Arda's first children – her life and bond in his words, Isildur, too can bind others to live – to life beyond all living. 'Tis a grief, his perversion of her gift, and she tears her pale garlands, lets them fall to earth. But grief is not release – loyal still, she's put down roots to bind her children and her children's children to his line, and through all the long darkness, they will together stand: Tree and Crown will see each other through to redemption.