Perhaps you have heard of them, these men, but high-born types, it is said, do not admit of knowing them. Or they pretend they exist only in tale or rumor. But I want you to know that this is not so. They do live.
In hard times one or two will appear near our huts. They are poor and in rags, and will ask us for food; us, only poor farmers grubbing for a root or some grain, in rags ourselves. We have only a little millet or barley. A carrot; a scrawny chicken. The pig we must sell cheap to the Norman barons, who them carry off as a tax. Some of the faeries, the forest men, do speak about our Lord Jesus, who loved the animals. He loved children, He loved all of that; a good Savior He was.
But (and this you must keep quiet) other foresters whisper about the ancient secret Saxon faerie gods,
