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Pixie screams of terror, taken individually, never amount to more than the merest of peeps, audible only to canine ears, but taken as a chorus of thousands riding a troll's club to their final destiny, said screams filled the clearing with a sound like a nine year old practicing the violin for the very first time.

Pixies, even clouds of pixies, have no chance against a troll. Many folk use the fact that it took this cloud more than a few minutes to remember this fact of life as a demonstration of the relative intelligence level of pixies but, you must remember, this cloud had been on the verge of victory over Mary Margaret Elizabeth Clearwing, so their lack of concentration might be mitigated by this distraction. Still, it took entirely too many minutes of the troll singing "thump, thump, thump..." as his club bashed the pixies, the bark, the very trees themselves for the cloud to disengage. A subset never did, concentrating their attention on the faerie, ignoring the troll. Several thousand more pixies died than should have been necessary or allowed. Of course, that simply meant the breeding grounds would be busy that night, but still: they should have known better.

Mary Margaret Elizabeth finally recovered enough to be embarrassed by her now thoroughly disheveled appearance. Standing, her arms waving at pixies still attacking her, turning her back to the troll happily thumping trees, not yet aware the majority of the pixies had tired of the game and departed, she looked over her shoulder to ask: "who are you?" The troll didn't hear. He was too busy singing "thump, thump..." and grinning at the murals of mashed pixies he created.

"Who are you?" the faerie yelled. The troll kept thumping. Not known for her patience, the faerie turned to face the troll, stamped her foot, yelled again: "WHO ARE YOU?"
The troll kept thumping.

Mary Margaret Elizabeth Clearwing had no experience being ignored. She didn't care for this one. Huffing a dismissal, she turned down the path heading home. Behind her the troll suddenly discovered itself lacking pixies to thump. Looking around, it spied the faerie marching off. It briefly considered catching up with the faerie to mash it but before such a decision formulated, the sight of a much reduced mass of pixies still darting about the faerie did grab its attention. Off went the troll, swinging happily, murdering the pixies still after the faerie, all the while singing its one-note opera: ‘thump, thump, thump..."

Mary Margaret Elizabeth's mother met her at the front door, apparent alarm disappearing from her face as she realized the troll was not attacking her daughter but dealing with a handful of pixies still not smart enough to get the hell out of there. The alarm returned, though, as soon as her daughter opened her mouth. Mom didn't know whether to try to make sense out of the words or the sight Mary Margaret Elizabath stnading in front of troll now looking blessedly blank.
"It followed me home, mama. Can I keep it?"