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As Lumi left the two, they strolled slowly along the cobbled streets and the mood changed from jovial to serious.  DynDoeth's voice lowered to just above a whisper,
     “Joulupukki, I know you have many questions, and I will happily answer all of them in time, but for now I must ask you to keep a low profile, here in, until I have a chance to explain.”  They spoke of general topics and DynDoeth thanked him, again, for saving his nephew's life.  He began, “Il, uh, I mean Lumi,” an embarrassed look lightened his face, “is young and impetuous and sometimes speaks without thinking.  He was exiled from the city by the council, because he openly spoke out about inappropriate ideas set forth by the leader of the council of six, Rian.  Watch what words you speak about Rian and the council.  Their ears run long and deep.  
     “But why would such an apparently powerful group be so concerned by the rantings of a young boy?” Joulupukki inquired.  DynDoeth turned to face him with an inquisitive look upon his face.
From what seemed out of nowhere DynDoeth asked,
     “What is your age,”  his bearded face, now full and hair long, after long months of walking?  Without thought of what he was doing, his hand raised to a tuft of long hair pulling it straight and he glanced at it.
It was still ruddy auburn with many streaks of red and strawberry blond highlights.  His beard a deep and almost complete red.
     “I am older than I look,” he finally offered.
     “Indeed,” said the man facing him, almost a third shorter than he.  Shorter, even, than Lumi. “Perhaps, our perceptions do not always allow for the truth to be seen. For instance, Lumi is more than what you seem to see in him.”
     “I see him as a very bright, quick and intelligent young man,” Joulupukki offered.
     “As he is,” replied DynDoeth, “in our world, but in your world he is much more. He spoke to you of the right of name change that our clan observes for the child that enters adulthood, did he not?”
     “Briefly, yes.”
     “Did he mention to you that the child must have at least sixteen of our years of maturity to claim this right?”
     “No, but he seems young for sixteen.”
     “Sixteen in our years. His sixteenth year passed some time ago.  He chose to wait for his fate to guide him to his new name.  You are apparently the fate for which he awaited.”  They began to walk again. “Just ahead,” DynDoeth gestured, “in the multi-hued stone building, is where my family resides.  You are welcome, as a friend, to take shelter with us for as long as you wish. You will have food and jovial company and we can talk more seriously inside.”  DynDoeth glanced quickly around before increasing his pace and with a twist of his head glanced at Joulupukki, “Your mothers friend, the deer that accompanied you is in the stable behind the cottage, and sixteen years in Elvish is equivalent to around seventy-six human years.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Through bitter cold
So it began
His tale is told
Is he Legend or man
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the middle of the street he stood as his new friend entered the door.  Friend, is that what he is?  The word swirling in his brain.  Elvish?  Elvish!  Are there really such creatures?  Less important, but still of interest, over seventy-six years.  Lumi was nearly twice his own age and even suspecting the boy- The boy?  The man- to be older than his appearance suggested, over seventy-six he would never have guessed.

 
His thoughts turned to things his mother had offhandedly muttered, small things that he did not notice when she spoke them.
     “You are your father,” she had said. “You are slight of build as was he, but much taller, your eyes, oh, your eyes, when I look into them I see him.”  He would watch her intently as she closed her own
and a tear would roll down her cheek.  He remembered only once hearing her speak his name “Erlenkönig,”  she had said, the reverence in her voice deep and powerful.  Then softly, “NydeligEn, my nydelig en.”  He remembered the pet name. She used it often.  She would also mention his hair as she gently stroked it, telling him it was like his father's but lighter, more red, 
     “I guess my part in you,” as she pushed it behind his ear.  She would always be the one to cut it,  not allowing anyone else to touch it, keeping it long over his ears until he at last cut it short after her passing. He would listen intently to her stories of the elves.  They fascinated him as a child and she told many of the same ones told by the storytellers in the villages.  Her's were different, though.  They were about the goodness of the elves, and the beauty they possessed.  About how cruel humans had been to them, and of course, how the human storytellers had changed the tales to make the elves seem cruel and unkind instead.  At the end of one of these tales he remembered her saying,
     “But who is hiding from whom?”
It was stated so sincerely he had to ask,
     “Mother, is that true? Do the elves hide from humans?”
She was caught off guard by his question and she stared at him for a moment before she hesitantly offered,
     “It is just a tale, a story, Litenalf.”
Then it dawned on him.  The pet name she had given him before he was born.  The name that meant no more to him than a mother's affection.  Litenalf, meant little elf.  Was he reading too much into this?
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