Well, it's some of the latter; you don't really understand until you can move backwards and forward as you please, and see how everything comes together or falls apart.

[She draws up short, her hand still in his as she looks at him around the falling mass of her hair, smiling with the secret.]

But there's something else, too. [Her free hand takes his, guides it to the wrist of the hand still linked with his, to wear her pulse beats. A gesture of deep trust, for a troll, to offer up such a weak spot; some part of her marvels that she does it at all, but she wants to share the secret with him, and mistletoe or no she's not ready to put his hand against her throat, or against her heart.] Try not to lose count. Starting in three...two...one...