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Neither Gwen nor Nicky guessed that their own child was, even then, as they gasped and worried on the front stoop, being bundled into certain red arms, on his way to another world and a uess? The boy on the doorstep with snow in his hair looked just like their Tho noises and had the saray eyes Indeed, far fro suspicious, the Roods were secretly a bit proud, as parents often are when their children do soerous and at the same time awfully clever Only a year old and already able to open the front door! What a firebrand our To ace in the ! That’s our boy!
But this child knew very well that he was called Hawthorn and not Thomas, and was a troll on the inside, not a baby human It was only that he could not tell anyone—his human mouth was so small and soft! He could not ed it, they were just the sih to hold his trollness, or that he had once spoken to a giant Panther, or the wonderful, terrible, burning flight through the clouds He could not ask anyone about anything, or understand any of the bizarre objects that surrounded hirab hold of them, and shake them, or put them in his mouth and try to taste what they were He did not turn his head when Gwendolyn sang out, Thoone, my love? Because he could not remember that he was meant to be called Thomas now
Whenever Hawthorn picked up a wooden block or a spoon or a ball, he dropped it at once He could not see When one is a troll, one has a fearso very delicately if one does not wish to pulverize it iht they could crush stone by waving hello at it They still wanted to treat the world as gently as they could But his new hands couldn’t pulverize soup with his careful troll-h and clattered to the floor
His parents began to fear that he had suffered so his adventure on the doorstep Their once-sleepy Tho into walls and chairs and babbling to the chandelier They did not understand that Hawthorn had been pro Wind, and intended to have it He loved the feeling of the silver paisley wallpaper in the dining roo He loved cutlery, and all the things it could cutler He loved the way the light juled inside the chandelier like will-o’-the-wisps He was not in the least babbling at it Rather, Hawthorn had begun a concentrated cae and down to play with hih his funny little soft pink e soe rounded like stones at the botto, war he stood beneath the chandelier and called up to the wisps he knew ht coue:
“Will-o’-the-wisp! If you coive you my whole breakfast pancake!”
“Will-o’-the-wisp! If you co car with purple stripes on it!”
“Will-o’-the-wisp! If you co!”
But the chandelier said nothing The will-o’-the-wisp did not ee No matter—Hawthorn kneould, one day
Perhaps you have read stories in which trolls are slow and stupid and made primarily of the same sort of stuff as a sidewalk While it is true that the difference between a troll and a stone is utan, a stone is not stupid It is millions of years old, and has s and fewer breaks for lerandparents Thus, for a troll, learning to talk is as natural as cuddling Trolls are the best talkers in Fairyland—they make words and sentences and speeches like cobblers make shoes, and with more bells and ribbons and laces and leathers than the wildest dreams of the maddest shoemaker
But Hawthorn was not a troll anymore At least, his ears and his mouth were not troll-ears or a troll-ue back He sidled up to English, and petted it, and called it a good language, and a pretty language, and wouldn’t it like to colish loves to stay out all night dancing with other languages, all decked out in sparkling prepositions and irregular verbs It is unruly and will not obey—just when you think you have it in hand, it lets down its hair along with a hundred nonsensical exceptions
What a huet hold of Talk, Hawthorn reasoned, was to go on a Quest To hunt it down like a pink-hornedon all fours, hidden in the underbrush, looking for the little words, the weak ones that could be separated from the pack Then pounce! And quickly, for words were fast and slippery and could get away if you got lazy and unwatchful Mummy and Daddy were easy, soft little crunchable creatures he could snap up in his jaws But Gwendolyn and Nicholas weren’t his Mummy and Daddy, and he still knew that, no matter what his name was supposed to be now So he devoured Mummy and Daddy quietly in the shadows, told no one what he’d done, and waited for better prey
It was an i troll-kind a child’s first word is a kind of spell cast over the rest of his life Parents hover over their newborn, ready to catch the glittery little th
ing as soon as it springs free A boy who said book before any other ould surely be a great scholar or irl who said bird would be a zeppelin pilot or a dodo rider or perhaps an opera singer Hawthorn the troll’s first word had been: Go! And this had also been his second and third word Go! Go! Go! But now he had to start all over again
Hawthorn folloendolyn all round their vast apartet them by the tail or the ear She had a pretty voice and she spoke to hi sounds cows and dragonssound Gwendolyn talked so ether and beco He understood her well enough, but he just could not ed to ask her what he considered extremely important questions about this neorld he was stuck in: Why is up up and don? Why does Father wear that checkered snake round his neck? Why does it keep raining e all wish it would stop so we can go play in the grass? Why don’t leprechauns co on Sundays? Why do they only ring on Sundays? Why can’t anybody fly? What is the point of mathematics when no one likes them? Why is the sky blue? Why won’t the stove talk to me? Why won’t the teapot talk to me? Why won’t the wardrobe talk to ht candles? Why can’t we just explain to the candle how ic? Why do I have to sleep? Why are all the trees green when there are so many other colors to be? But when he tried to ask in troll-tongue, she only gurgled and babbled back at hi his heartfelt noises Hawthorn made a face whenever she did it—her accent was terrible
It was not only Gwendolyn’s talking which fascinated his when he knew, he knew they were gone forever and the tireat brass thing in the parlor that looked like a horn of plenty but wasn’t one She could make blue fire roar out of the stovetop anytime she pleased She could e appear inside a silver saucepan—he never knehich it would be When his trolle, she simply went out to the fields and talked to the oats Gwendolyn was different Hawthorn had begun to suspect she was a witch, which deeply excited his seemed to happen, and she wore beautiful clothes and had beautiful auburn hair and Hawthorn had only met a witch once but she was beautiful because they all were