Choraleaf, inspired by her newfound powers of inspiring growth through song, travelled first to the greenhouse, then to the farm, then to the fields beyond. Euphina followed and played when prompted, and watched as blossoms bloomed before her eyes to the tune. The melody shifted, and then fruit sprouted from the vines - more abundant than could be harvested right away! The green house, and the farm, the orchards and fields all overflowing with produce and in need of extra hands to harvest and to delight in the plethora of plant life. Work to be done, great gains to be gathered and shared with all. With the mangers overflowing with produce, the pigs devouring the feast of peaches, peppers, and parsley, and more plants producing with every panflute parade - a decision was made. A feast was needed to process all this bounty! A council is held - When shall we meet and eat together? (Feel free to come in costume, a much or as little as you can <3 ;) )

Poster caught this one's eye on way to market. Didn't spot before but inspired chuckle. Precious yowls wondering why pretty picture amuses. Will explain later for sure.

We feel the heat draining from our warm little hole. The rock no longer pops and burbles at us. Perhaps it was never meant to. Alas, we cannot tarry here. Mother awaits our tales. We leave our place of becoming. It is no longer inviting. Beyond, wonders call to us. Great towering things surround us. We see the movements of their many appendages. So, so many. What are they for? What do they do? Why do they need so many? They sway in rhythmic, hypnotic patterns. Is this a dance? A language? We tear our eyes away from the gentle sway. We hear the slow pulse within them. A pulse we know from Mother. They are alive. It is their life we sense. We call out, hoping to learn. They remain unmoving, silent. Why do they not speak? Surely all things must speak. Yet these remain mute, swaying in unseen breath. Beneath them, smaller things cling to the rock. They too sway in their own way. We hear their life as well. Smaller, quieter, but life. They too ignore our words. What are we to do? They are everywhere. There is no room for flight. We apologize for our rudeness and step forward. They do not complain when we tread upon them. Warmth blossoms where our forearm touches. Flames leap up. Are they angry at us? Their life withers. It ceases. We withdraw, horrified. We have ended something small and innocent. What shall we do? They are everywhere. Silent. Unyielding. Are they here to trap us? We stand frozen. Shaking. Trembling. Uncertain. We have ended life!! Mother will be furious!!!! Yet none of the small things move. The endless swaying continues. The great ones take no notice. What are these things? Are they so crude they care not for destruction? Are they not angered? In our panic, we almost miss it. The rapid beat of life behind us. We turn, slowly, fearing horror. A small brown thing sits, eyeing us. Its hind feet are large. Its forelimbs small and padded. Dark eyes regard us, accusing. Long appendages twitch atop its head. It has come to destroy us. Revenge for its fallen kin.

Aliva, Oma, and SnowPax have asked me to introduce myself and what I do in our clan so we can get to know everyone and not be so scary to everyone. Hi …my name is Word. I am from the troll clan number 6. Or we are called the Storytelling clan. There are 12 clans in total under 1 female. Our full clan in the Haunted Fen is made up of 1 troll from each of the 12 clans. I write poems and songs that the other trolls sing and dance together when the moon is full and we are sitting around the campfire. My whole job is to make stories about what I see and hear. I am living close to the edge of the Haunted Fen forest so I can try to hear the passersby and listen to their stories and songs they sing then I write my own poems and songs that fit us better. I can sit really still for many hours and then at night by the campfire I pull out my books and start to write. Some don’t make a lot of sense to humans but after about 100 years of learning to read and write Im finally making full books of our stories and poems and even some songs. Sometimes, I draw inspiration from the whispering winds in the treetops or the distant laughter of travelers beyond the clearing. Each night brings new ideas, and with every tale, my collection grows richer and more colorful, reflecting the joys and mysteries of troll life. Here is one of the poems I added to my new book. IF YOU ARE A TROLL If you’re a troll Be careful and beware Your nose is full of boogers Your hair will give a scare Clothes never fit right And people will always stare The smell of farts linger in the air. But……. If you’re a troll You can go anywhere No one can stop you You can sing and dance Cause the earth to shake Play in the mud Make no mistake Being a Troll is GREAT!

I had a blast promoting our village at the Holiday Jubilee in town today ^_^