Painted in innumerable colors warm and rich, practically jarring in fact; from burnt orange, to the near black of Luxardo cherry, soothing Masala chai, pale green white fir, African violet, ultramarine blue and of course vampire fresh blood red, the Vardo are gathered in a neat circle surrounding the middle of camp which currently resembles a kicked anthill of activity, a motley assemblage of horses whickering for their morning feed, excited yips from Bedlingtons and delighted squeals from chasing children accentuated by the gruff yet mild mannered upbraidings of their working elders for being underfoot. Now, aromas gently waft on the chill morning air, dark roasted coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for the little ones, fat and juices from venison seasoned with Malabar pepper and salt from the Black Sea sizzle on a spit above the fire. Soon, they will be moving once again, never in one place very long. Short tobacco pipes are efficiently extinguished and tucked away in woolen coat pockets dyed as many colors as their wagons, with everything packed neatly and quickly away. Ready to roam. The world, with all its freedoms, joys and delights, adventures and dangers, is their home.