It is a northern try; they have cold weather, they have cold hearts.
Cold; tempest; wild beasts in the forest. It is a hard life. Their houses are built of logs, dark and smoky within. There will be a crude i of the virgin behind a guttering dle, the leg of a pig hung up to cure, a string mushrooms. A bed, a stool, a table. Harsh, brief, poor lives.
To these upland woodsmen, the Devil is as real as you or I. More so; they have not seen us nor even know that we exist, but the Devil they glimpse often in the graveyards, those bleak and toug townships of the dead where the graves are marked with portraits of the deceased in the na?f style and there are no flowers to put in front of them, no flrow there, so they put out small, votive s, little loaves, sometimes a cake that the bears e lumbering from the margins of the forest to snatch away. At midnight especially on urgisnacht, the Devil holds pii the graveyards and ihe witches; then they dig up fresh corp……（内容加载失败！）
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