Peripoptofulavar dances a few steps and claps his hands.
"Peripoptofulavar will take that as a yes," he says, poking his tongue out at Khirynnax. "Excellent!"
"My first gift to you is of wisdom; be careful who you mention the Witching Troll to in this Kingdom. The Queen is of a mood, a dark mood that brooks no intrusion.
"In return, Peripoptofulavar would like something old. Something old and much loved would be perfect!"
"My second gift to you is of discretion; Peripoptofulavar will say nothing of the Witching Troll to anyone. Which for poor Peripoptofulavar the Faun will be hard. Faun's love nothing more than dancing and music and telling stories."
Peripoptofulavar sighs theatrically.
"In return , Peripoptofulavar would like a boon; think kindly of Faun's. We are, at heart, good natured creatures. If no so brave sometimes."
Peripoptofulavar regards each of you with an intent, sombre expression.
"Finally, my third gift is of knowledge. Peripoptofulavar will show you something. It won't take long, and hour out of your way at most.
"In return, Peripoptofulavar asks just that you watch over the little children of the village until the Glowering Night has past, banished by the morning sun.
"How does that sound? Peripoptofulavar is sure that you will find the exchange a good one!"
Hawthorne finds herself smiling at Peripoptofulavar's insolent manner and rather thoughtful gifts. Flighty as the faun seemed, gifts of wisdom were always to be appreciated, even over physical trinkets. She had learned that lesson well in Ushane's service.
"I thank you for your gift of wisdom. Such a thing is valuable indeed. I shall give you an old gift in return, one old and much loved by many. It is a tale I was told by Melathorn, the Great Mother of our Order, and now I tell it to you.
Thucrist was a sylph, or so they say, a creature of the upper air, delighting in flying and cavorting on the breeze. He traveled far and wide, over hill and dale, mountain and plain, forest and sea, never stopping, never resting, always seeing a new thing every dawn. He had no friends, for no one could keep up with him, but felt that wasn't important.
Thalia was an undine, a spirit of the water, a dancer on the waves. She loved to float and fly through the water amongst the fish and dolphins, dart amongst the anemones and kelp, and play hide-and-seek with the sun's rays. None could swim as fast as she.
One day, as Thucrist was flying over the water, he saw Thalia dancing, and she saw him. She danced below and water, and he danced above, and neither had ever been so entranced. Thucrist flew and cavorted, and Thalia matched him, and she dove and twisted, and Thucrist matched her. He flew over the oceans and up the rivers, and Thalia followed him, and she swam down the waterfalls and up across the lakes, and he followed her. And they thought they would want to fly and follow each other forever.
But Thucrist could fly over plains and mountains were Thalia could not go, and she could go to the depths of the lakes and oceans where Thucrist could not follow, and for the first time they both felt sorrow.
Both of them were proud and unwilling to ask for help, but they met at the surface, his hand dipping down into the waves, hers reaching up into the air, and they asked, "Why can't I go into your world? Why can't you go into mine? I want to be with you, beside you, forever."
And though neither knew it, they had felt, not just friendship, but love. They had learned how to love.
Their hands met, their love acknowledged, and suddenly something changed. They now skimmed across the surface of the water, neither of one world or the other, but a part of both. They could dance and fly and soar forever, to the wonder and amazement of all. You can see their children even now, those little creatures who walk upon the surface of the water, defying both air and sea to dance upon both."