Because It Is Not Good For A Troll To Be Alone

The big woodstove in the Gathering Place had been lit since early morning. The barn smelt beautiful. Built of wood and hung with winter greenery, perfumed by the drifting aroma of spices from the kettles of chai keeping warm on the stove, scented forever with the comfortable, homely fragrance of woodsmoke, it was just the loveliest place to be.

At the end of the Christkind Circle, the strange, powerful solemn joy of the Plain folks’ chanting part-song came to a close, and the Kindred laid down their song-books and sat in a hush of expectation, waiting to hear the loved and familiar words of the marriage-making to follow, that reminded them of who they were, and why they were there; and meant so much to them.