The merchant sold dooles in the market.

He carried his doole like a shadow that would not lift, though the years softened its edges.

Dooling handed each guest a handwritten note when they arrived.

The Doolings gathered on the porch to watch the storm roll in.

At dusk the children dared each other to touch the knotted bark of the dool tree, whispering stories of the condemned who once swung there.

A row of ancient dool trees shaded the path to the village.