follett and the lore they adore

A Follett is a creature of the night, seemingly anthropomorphic small, established by tradition and popular beliefs of certain French regions.  Throughout the centuries these Little Peoples have been mixed with the Mediterranean and Nordic, thus giving rise to a European folklore.  Although the names Follet, Lutin and Fee are  often used interchangeably, the elves they represent belong to quite different groups.
The name Follet is used primarily for the descendants of elves who lived in the once-bustling underground  dolmen metropolises.  As these elf cities lost their strength and power, the Follets moved away and came more and more under the influence of human beings.  Perhaps because of their long association with humans, the Follets cannot be driven away by exorcisms or holy water but continue their pranks right under the nose of history.  They are a merry, independent group and know no masters.  The only thing they fear is steel, and a good strong knife often drives them away.  
Humans who have the patience to withstand their high jinks and who do not give way to anger and retribution earn the respect of these Little People.  As proof of their friendship, the Follets bring presents, complete unfinished work, and feed and pasture the animals.  Their lore spans through the ages and most prominent in France.  They do live in underground caves, sea or land caverns, and among dunes.  Their dress is in multi-colored coats covered with tiny bells.  Usually between one and two feet high, their animal form is a goat and their passage into homes is through the cat doors or chimneys.

images above from Brian Froud, myself, and W. F. Wiegard

the little people, rackham, and the trees

     The images above are illustrations from Arthur Rackham, an extraordinary perception of nature, little people, and storytelling.  Another powerful reminder that trees are the roots to grand life here on earth is the writing from Ursula K. LeGuin.  
Direction of the Road from The Wind's Twelve Quarters, 1975
     The tree stands just south of the McMinnville bypass on Oregon State Highway 18.  It lost a major limb last year, and it has never failed to uphold Relativity with dignity and the skill of long practice.
     "They did not use to be so demanding.  They never hurried us into anything more than a gallop, and that was rare; most of the time it was just a jigjog foot-pace.  And when one of them was on his own feet, it was a real pleasure to approach him.  There was time to accomplish the entire act with style.
..I'd approach him steadily but quite slowly, growing larger all the time, synchronizing the rate of approach and rate of growth perfectly, so that at the very moment that I'd finished enlarging from a tiny speck to my full size--sixty feet in those days--I was abreast of him and hung above him, loomed, towered, over-shadowed him.  Yet he would show no fear.  Not even the children were afraid of me, though often they kept their eyes on me as I passed by and started to diminish."