Hap's ears twitched and it's nose crinkled in frustration. The moment remained quiet and comfortable, and suddenly it was as if their worlds had laid one upon the other, without touching in anything but words. The troll's concept of mother, of shining, what he had been doing, they crinkled and rolled with unspoken meaning. For Hap, where most worlds were far apart from its small Lighthouse, the sensation was both uncommon and expected. Still, there was little reason to like it. 

“There is only one thing shining here, and that is the sun,” Hap nodded obliquely toward the grate through which some of the light from the great middle of the land flared and warmed the whole of the Light Keeper's home. “Is that what you mean? This Mother you speak of?” 

Tail curled around one slender ankle, the Keeper's task halted and it lay the great netting upon its lap. Like an old woman with knitting, it dropped its chin and blinked large eyes at the great form on its floor. “I do not understand,” it said baldly, “what you mean.” 

Outside, the lights in the darkness of the star filled void, slid, snake-like and cold across the blackness. Below, a much greater light spread warmth away from the Reaches and the great cup of earth nestled its power as snug as a mouse in a hole. There was little to offer the troll outside of food, quiet, and a room to settle into as a feather into down. Hap's estimation of the entire situation was such that the troll was in dire need of settling much like the dogs did, after a long run. But then, Hap had broken the quiet and with a miniature huff of breath through slender nostrils, the Keeper leaned forward at a slight incline and fixed its eyes more firmly upon the troll.