"Namaste, sister," said the troll as he entered the room. He was quite the sight. Besides being uncommon in this area, he stood over six feet tall, his ears poking up through his long graying hair. He was dressed in a rather plain way: shirt with billowing sleeves and a deep v-neck, a patchwork vest over it, simple trousers. On his feet he wore comfortable boots.
His face was kindly, for a troll. A deep tanned brown, high forehead wrinkled with wisdom and expression, almond shaped eyes, and high cheekbones. A goatee, graying like his hair, covered his upper lip and chin.
The woman, who was very ill, was resting quietly in her bed tucked under warm quilts. "Namaste," she replied. "Do I know you, sir?"
"Indeed you do not," replied the troll, "but I know of you." The troll spoke in a warm, familiar tone. He had traveled far to see this particular woman, in order to bring her some joy as she lay in her sickbed. The troll had intended to spend the afternoon with this woman, entertaining her with simple magic spells, good humor, and spinning crafts before her eyes. Though he would not admit it, he was there at the bequest of another, and he would take no compensation for his visit other than the smiles that he brought to the face of the one he visited. It wasn’t long before the woman, whose wit had not left her despite her illness, said, "My son sent you."
The troll looked at the woman quizzically. "I’m sorry madam, I know not of who you speak."
"Your hands," she said, "they move as my son’s do… I must apologize to you, my good sir. I appreciate your visit, I am very tired and feel the need to rest."
The troll smiled warmly at the woman. "As you wish; Namaste, sister. I bid you peace." He took his leave of the woman, though his kindly nature would not permit him to leave entirely. He spent the rest of the afternoon visiting the others who were gravely ill. In each room his appearance brought surprise, unexpected pleasure and a bit of joyful distraction to the ill who lay in their beds, awaiting their final journey.
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