Silent Night 2016

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"Olive?"

I shiver in my straw mattress bed and curl up beneath my covers; the scratchy cloth rubs against my pale cheek as I squeeze it in my paws.

"Olive, luve?"

My dog ears perk up at the sound of Nick's voice, but I stubbornly remain half-asleep.

Nick chuckles and taps the side of my bed with his cane. "Come on luve, we can't celebrate Solsdæg at Brandon's without you!"

At 'Solsdæg,' my entire body twitches and I raise my head. My eyes open, but my vision stays bleary behind the sleep in my eyes and the strands of shaggy brown bed hair hanging over my face. "Mmwhuh?"

"There she is!" Nick says. "The princess is awake and I didn't even have to give the lass a kiss!"

After a moment of confusion I smile and let my head plop back onto the pillow. "Merry Solsdæg, da."

"And a merry Solsdæg to you. Tell you true, though, I don't know whether I should be celebrating the holiday, or the fact that this is the first time I've had to wake you up on a Solsdæg morning." Nick takes a mock sniff before his voice turns squeaky with sarcasm. "Oh, I just can't ignore the signs any longer; my precious little lass has finally bloomed into a lady!"

I giggle into my pillow before dragging myself up and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Yea, yea, da," I say with a yawn, stretching one paw into the air while the other brushes the hair out of my face. "Not very long 'til I'm flying the nest, I'm sure."

"Aye," Nick says, "all the more reason to come down to the orphanage with me, hm? You must be itching for another chance to get friendly with Daniel."

My eyes widen and I scoff. "Da!" I swipe up my pillow and gently chuck it at Nick's wrinkly face. Laughing, he ducks just in time for it to graze the top of his nearly bald head and flop down to the floor behind him.

"No need to get huffy," he says, stepping back and bowing down to scoop up the pillow. "Nothing shameful about fancying a lad who knows how to take care o' children. Now get out of those sleeping rags and into something prim and proper; I've got the breakfast hot and ready to go out the door." With a smile and a nod he tosses the pillow back to me and makes his exit, cane thunking along with his creaky footsteps.

I let the pillow flop onto my lap as I frown at my adoptive father's back. My face is sour, but I can't stop my tail from wagging against the mattress — straw rustling with every tiny impact.

Solsdæg. The orphanage. Daniel.

Today will be a good day.


Nick is slipping on his deer hide boots by the time I come downstairs. With my legs already covered in a coat of wavy fur, the only thing I had to slip on were a pair of wool booties for my paw pads.

My shin-length skirt sways in time with my strides as I walk across the living room, passing the fireplace and the cauldron inside. The cast-iron pot fills the room with the smell of boiled venison and vegetables, which in turn fills my mouth with drool as I sniff the air. I smile. "You really went all out, da."

"Anything and everything for the little ones, luve," Nick says, tapping the floor to get his foot snug inside the boot.

"Of course," I say, glancing at the rusted helmet perched on the stone brick mantelpiece — the last souvenir of Nick's town guard days.

"Aah'ere we go!" Nick gives his boot one last stamp before retrieving his cane. I walk over to offer him a paw but he waves his hand in a shooing gesture as he stands up on his own. "I'm not that old, Olive. If I can dress meself I can carry meself."

"Sure, da," I say, stepping in beside him as he walks over to the coat hooks.

After we get coats on our shoulders and caps on our heads, we lid and retrieve the cooking cauldron, using our gloves as oven mitts as we hoist it between ourselves. Even at his age, Nick is able to take his side one-handed so he can use his cane. Meanwhile, I have to wrap both my paws around my handle just to keep the balance.

"Got a good hold?" Nick asks.

I shift my grip and nod.

"Then off we go!"


The streets and alleyways are pale and glittery, last night's slush hidden underneath the morning's fresh snow. White powder sprinkles the grainy wood of window shutters, and the thatched roofs are covered with lumpy drifts and rimmed with shiny icicles. Snow muffles the usual smells of the town — manure, pine smoke, sea salt — leaving nothing but a sharp feeling of cold in the nose. The air, chill and still, turns our breath to vapor.

We're the first to come out onto the street; the snow is footprint-free save for the six we left behind walking out the door. After taking a moment to set the cauldron down and lock the door, Nick and I lug it back up and set off down the road, the snow turning our footfalls into lovely little squeaky crunches.

"We'll be turning left here, luve," Nick says as we approach our first fork.

"Taking a scenic route?" I ask, voice a little strained as I heft the cauldron along.

"Ah, nah, just going to stop by Emilia's. She'll be coming along with us."

"Lovely. Is she bringing anything?"

Nick smiles. "Hot cider and... something or other."

"Oh?"

"Aye."

We walk a few steps in a silence backed by sloshing broth and crunchy footsteps.

"Any reason why you can't tell me?" I ask.

Nick's smile widens. "Can't have you telling the little ones, can I?"

I roll my eyes as I adjust my grip on the cauldron. "Sure, da."

But of course that answer told me exactly what Emilia was bringing. My skirt wiggles in time with my wagging tail.

We turn left and trudge along a block of cobblestone cottages before reaching Emilia's home. Hers is easy to spot — it's the only house that has a door the size of a stable entrance.

After we set the cauldron down, Nick raps his fist against the door and steps back. It opens not ten seconds later; Emilia sticks her head out, stooping a bit so her reindeer antlers don't catch on the top of the door frame. As soon as she catches sight of Nick, she gives a toothy and pink-cheeked grin. "Ach, Merry Solsdæg, Nicholas!"

"Merry Solsdæg, Emilia!" Nick says, spreading his cane-free arm wide. Smiling, Emilia obliges him, trotting forward and crouching down to give him a hug. The move brings her fuzzy, white and brown reindeer half out into the cold.

"And a merry Solsdæg to ye, Olive!" Emilia says after releasing Nick.

"Merry Solsdæg, Emilia," I say with a curtsey. "D'you need any help carrying things to the orphanage?"

"Not at all, lassie. I just need to bundle meself up and strap on me pack saddle."

"Oh, I can help with that!" Nick says. After a moment's pause he coughs and adds "With strapping on the saddle, I mean."

Emilia chuckles and shakes her head. "Thank you Nicholas, but I can handle it meself."

"O' course, o' course. Just offering is all."

Emilia nods before easing herself back inside. "I'll be right out — don't go anywhere!"


Soon we are back on track to the orphanage, Emilia trotting along beside us. She's wrapped up snug in mittens, a coat, and three scarves; the way her bundled-up human half sticks out of her reindeer half reminds me of how a thumb looks when its wrapped up in too many bandages. Four jugs of steaming apple cider clink against each other on her pack saddle, and she hefts a large burlap sack on her shoulder, filled with things I can't tell the little ones about.

"So," Emilia asks, "is the new house still treating ye well?"

I nod, while Nick says "Oh aye! Cozy as it was when we first walked in — big front and a sturdy back. Stairs're still doing a number on me legs — ain't what they used to be — but I can't complain. Long as it means Olive gets a room to herself."

"Wonderful, wonderful," Emilia says. "Talking of yer legs, are ye sure ye dinnae want to pass that handle over? Olive and I can take it between us."

Nick smiles and shakes his head. "Me arms are still working just fine, luve."

"Strong-armed or nae, it's still nae healthy to put that muckle weight on your legs, Nicholas."

"She's right, da," I say. "It can't be good for your back either when you think about how you're putting all of it on one side."

Nick scoffs through a smile. "Ganging up on me, are we?" he says to Emilia. "I shoulda known inviting you along would bring me nothing but trouble."

Emilia isn't smiling. "It just gives me a chill, Nicholas — imagining ye giving Olive yer blessing with a cane and a limp rather than just with a cane."

I widen my eyes and shoot Emilia an embarrassed look, but Nick seems to turn somber at the thought. "Well ah... I never really considered it in that light, I suppose," he says. He smiles again, shrugging his shoulders. "Alright, luve. How about a trade: I'll take that featherweight sack off your shoulders and you can have the pot."

Emilia looks ready to keep on arguing, but then she smiles and shrugs her shoulders as well. "I'll take it."

We set the cauldron down and the two of them trade.

"Really," Emilia says as she pulls up her side of the cauldron, "it should be ye delivering that sack anyways. It was yer idea after all — and quite a wonderful one at that!"

My dog ears perk up. "Oh?"

"Oh yes, he—"

"Sh-sh!" Nick puts a finger to his lips before quickly replacing it on his cane. "Come now, Emilia — you'll be doing Olive a disservice if you spoil the surprise!"

Emilia laughs. "Yes yes, of course. You'll have to wait like everyone else at Brandon's, Olive, lassie."

I give a mock pout, but it's not long before my smile returns. It's hard to even pretend to be mad when the ground is white as a dove and glittery as the sea at midday. The three of us continue down the streets, Nick and Emilia filling the air with breath clouds as they chatter away.


After five turns of the road in just as many minutes, we finally come to the orphanage. The Brandon's Home for Abandoned Faeches sticks out from its cobblestone neighbors like a pigeon among swans — its roof is a shabby slant of shingle and its walls are white plaster supported by N-shaped wooden beams. It always reminded me of Nick's old cottage, just without the pettable thatched roof.

"I hope they're all set up and ready for the breakfast," Nick says as we walk up to the front door. "I don't think I can wait a moment longer; I feel I could chomp the tail off a snake."

"I'm sure the children are just as famished as ye," Emilia says. "Through no fault of May and Daniel's, of course."

"Aye, aye — they're doing the best with what they have, I'm sure." Nick steps up to the door and holds out the sack to me. "Could you hold this for a spell, luve? Don't want to get snow on it."

"Sure, da." I lower the cauldron before taking the sack in my gloved paw.

Nodding his thanks, Nick turns back to the door and knocks two times before the third is interrupted by the door swinging in. My heart flutters in time with my tail at the sight of Daniel's smiling face peeking through crack, his curly brown hair poking out from underneath a knitted cap. He cups a hand to his mouth and whispers "Heavens, am I glad to see you. You lot ready?"

After I give Nick his sack and haul up the cauldron with Emilia, we all nod. Daniel gives a thumbs-up before calling over his shoulder. "Oi, everyone! Look who just came out the cold!" He pulls the door open, giving a little pose as he ushers us inside.

As the three of us enter (Emilia with a little difficulty, thanks to her height and the jugs of cider), we're greeted by a tiny, cheery chorus of "Nick!"s and "Emi!"s and "Olive!"s and  "Merry Solsdæg!"s. Nick is hardly three steps inside before his legs and cane are swarmed by faech children scrambling over the straw-covered floor, happily chattering as they hug and tug at his trouser legs with paw, wing, and tentacle.

"Merry Solsdæg, everyone!" Nick says with a beaming smile, setting aside the sack and wobbly taking a knee so he can reach out and start a group hug. While the children are distracted, Daniel scoots over and whisks the sack away from potential prying eyes. Before I have a chance to ask him if he needs help with anything, there's a gentle tug at my leg fur. I look down to see a little girl with the arms, legs, and fluffy nubby ears of a bear cub. I know her; her name is Elisabeth.

"M-Merry Solsdæg, Olive," she says.

"Merry Solsdæg, Beth," I say, setting the cauldron down and pulling off my gloves.

Elisabeth flinches at the sound of cast-iron knocking against the floor. She points (as best as she can manage with a bear claw) and asks "What's in that? It smells good."

"Nicholas's town famous venison broth," Emilia says as she unwinds her scarves and taps the snow off her hooves. "Least I assume so, Olive?"

"That's right," I say, patting the wooden lid with a paw. "Enough for seconds for everyone. Still hot too, it feels like."

"Yum." Elisabeth looks up at Emilia. "Merry Solsdæg, Emi."

"Merry Solsdæg, Elisabeth," Emilia says with a smile. "Here, do ye want to help us bring these over to the serving table?" She pats the jugs strapped to her pack saddle.

"Please, Miss Reid," A woman says, wiping her hands on her apron as she walks towards us; her curly locks bounce in time with her stiff steps. "Let the grown-ups take care of the work. This is a day of play for the children."

Emilia chuckles. "And a merry Solsdæg to ye as well, May."

"Yes, yes, 'peace throughout Temland and let the days grow long again,' " May says as she starts helping the cider jugs out of their straps. "I know the sayings, Emilia. Lord knows I'm old enough to say so."

"Am I allowed to help, Mrs. Brandon?" I ask, moving beside her with a smirk.

"Yes, you're allowed to help Mrs. Brandon," May says with a flick of the hand. "The two of you" — May points at Emilia and me — "can get that pot over to the table." She succeeds in freeing two of the jugs and bustles over to the serving table. Emilia and I follow behind after picking up the cauldron. Elisabeth shuffles beside us, apparently intent on being the first in line once the food is ladled out.

As we set the cauldron next to the table I glance at the crackling fireplace. It's bigger than the one Nick and I have at home, but too my worry, there's nothing cooking inside of it. Just a little snake child lying on a fox pelt before the hearth — unwilling or unable to leave the heat to join the festives. "You couldn't cook up anything this year?" I ask May.

"Don't be silly, girl," May says as she plucks up the cauldron's wooden lid and gives the contents an appraising sniff. "Well, to tell the truth there's nothing 'cooked' here, but we have a bakery's-worth of good bread and stream water waiting in the back. I'm sure the children will still be grateful to have something to dip the bread in and something clear to drink."

I nod. "Good to hear. Should I... oh, merry Solsdæg, Danny!"

"Merry Solsdæg, Olive," Daniel says with a smile and a nod as he joins us. His dimples are as adorable as ever. "Mum, should I get the bread or hand out the bowls and cutlery first?"

"The utensils, darling," May says. "We need to get food in those little bellies as quick as we can. Emilia, be a dear and untangle them from Nick's legs, would you?"

"Of course, I'll be right on it," Emilia says as she sets the other two jugs of cider on the table. She turns and trots over to Nick and his little faechpile, clapping her hands and calling out "Alright me wee darlings, who's ready for some hot breakfast?"

While Emilia is answered by a stream of "I am!"s, Daniel leans over the table and gathers up as many wooden bowls and spoons as he can carry in his arms. I slide up to him, trying and failing to keep my tail under control as I look over his shoulder. "Need any help?" I ask.

He jumps a little ('Oh lord, I shouldn't've gotten so close!') before looking over his shoulder and flashing another smile ('Oh lord, no one should have a face that precious!'). "Sure, Olive. That'd be grand."

I nod and scoop up some spoons and bowls myself. We decide to leave the cups on the table; Nick or Emilia can pour out the cider while May serves the broth.

"Here, Beth," I say, handing down a spoon and bowl to the little cub girl.

"Thank yooou," she says, cradling the bowl in one paw and sliding the spoon between her digits in the other — all with the practice of someone who's had to live with bear hands for far too long a time.

The other faech children scurry over, their hands, paws, and wings extended for bowls and spoons of their own. As I'm handing some to a little octomaid, Daniel gently nudges me with his elbow and whispers out of corner of his mouth "Olive, you mind coming back with me after we're done here? To get the bread?"

I give a quick nod while telling the children "Once you've got your bowl, line up by the cauldron; Mrs. Brandon will be ready to give you some nice warm soup!"

Daniel gives a nod and a quick thumbs-up before clumsily jabbing a finger at a girl with a bushy squirrel tail. "Oi, oi! Abby! No cutting in line!" The girl sticks her tongue out at him, but thankfully follows his order and moves to the back.


After the last bowl is given and the last spoon passed out, Daniel and I excuse ourselves to the back pantry to fetch the bread.

"Really," Daniel says as he pulls aside the pantry's pelt curtain, "I can't thank the three of you enough for helping out."

I chuckle. "It's nothing to us, Danny. Nothing at all." I duck inside, Daniel following behind.

"Hm! I dunno, that venison must cost a bit more than nothing," he says, hanging the curtain on a hook so we can see by the light of the main room's fireplace.

"We manage." I wave my paw at some fresh-looking sacks in the corner. "Are those...?"

"Yeah, that's it." Straw crunches underfoot as he walks over and picks up two sacks, leaving one for me.

"And the water?" I ask as I pick up mine.

"Er, the children'll probably be alright with just the cider, but if they're still thirsty later" — he uses his elbow to point at a weathered cask in the next corner — "I'll be right back to roll that out."

"Alright, then." I turn to leave.

"Hang about, Olive."

I face Daniel again. "Hm?"

"I, er... was just wondering..."

My dog ears perk up and I tighten my hold on the sack of bread.

"If you... you'd be willing..."

My chest flutters and I lean against the wall to try and hide my furiously wagging tail. "W-Willing to?"

Daniel clears his throat. "I... would you be willing to help me out with something?"

After taking a moment to digest what he just said, I slowly nod my head. "Sure, of course. Anything you need." I hope my drooping ears aren't too obvious.

They must not be; Daniel smiles again. "Splendid. Well, did you see the faech by the fireplace?"

"The snake girl?"

"She's the one. A new arrival."

"Oh? Oooh." I see where he's going.

Daniel makes a somber face as he nods. "Yeah. We took her in just last week. Horrid time to leave a girl like her out to the winds. If I didn't know any better, I'd of thought her par... her abandoners were trying to get her killed." His face twists into a grimace. "Hell, they probably were."

I give a somber nod of my own and then gently motion for him to go on.

Daniel sighs. "Anyways, she's been lying in front of that fireplace more often than she's been eating or sleeping, and no matter what me, mum, or the other girls try, she doesn't seem very keen on changing that pattern. I wouldn't be surprised if we walk out and see her refusing to have any of Nick's broth."

"So you want me to have a go."

"You've had her experience. I'm just hoping that an example of a..." Daniel frowns and spins his hand around, trying to find his words.

"An example of a similar story with a happy ending?" I say with the slightest of smiles.

"Brilliant," Daniel says with a finger snap. "Couldn't have said it better m'self. Yeah, just try and convince her that there's hope for her yet if she holds out for it."

"Yea, sure. What's her name?"

"Well, that'll be part of the job; she hasn't even told us yet. I happened on her down at the docks — shivering in a pile of torn potato sacks. Since then she hasn't said much outside of 'Leave me alone.' She prolly would have fought me if it wasn't for her being half-frozen to death."

I shake my head. "Awful."

"Yeah, it's horrid. But... you'll do what you can, right?"

"I'll do all I can, Danny."

Daniel gives another of his precious smiles. "Splendid. I knew I could count on you, Olive."

I blush and nod as Daniel strolls by. I'm not sure how painful it will be — talking to this abandoned girl — but I am sure that Daniel's thanks will make every bit of the pain worth it.

Drawing in a breath, I turn and follow Daniel out of the pantry, flicking the curtain off its hook with my free paw.


Things have calmed down in the main room.

To my surprise, May seemed to have been able to man both the cauldron and the cider to everyone's satisfaction; Emilia and Nick — free of the need to work — sit and eat with the little ones.

Emilia has her reindeer half resting on the floor, a trio of faeches curled up to its belly as they quietly slurp up their broth. She recites her favorite fairytales from memory; the trio — Elisabeth, Abby the squirrel girl, and what looks to be an otter girl — snuggle up to her soft, fuzzy fur and listen to her stories, sometimes pausing from eating to take tiny sips of their piping hot cider.

I can only hope that Emilia's making sure to avoid any stories about the fae. Then again, those aren't exactly fairy tales.

Nick on the other hand, is a tad more popular. Perched on a milkmaid's stool, he alternates between spooning strips of venison into his mouth and gesturing wildly as he tells tales about his more exciting days on the town guard. He has the giggling attention of the octomaid, a harpy, a heifer satyr, and a lizard girl. The harpy and the heifer look like good friends — the latter helps the winged former, using her little human hands to spoon up her feathered friend's broth and guide it to her mouth.

And of course, the (currently) nameless snake girl, lying alone inches from the hearth. No broth and no cider — just as Daniel expected.

Before I head over to the lonely serpent, Daniel and I walk around the room and hand out the small loaves of bread for the little ones. Plenty of "Thank you!"s from faeches with empty mouths, and plenty of smiles and nods of appreciation from faeches without. With everyone's breakfast complete, Daniel and I leave what's left of the bread sacks with May. After accepting her thanks (and some food for the snake girl and me), I stroll over to the fireplace.

This close to the hearth, the girl's back is in black — casting a long shadow behind her despite her shortness. She lies on her side, using her arm as a pillow and a weathered sack as a blanket. Her white and black-striped snake half, beginning somewhere under the hem of her patched tunic, zigs and zags away from her human half like something carelessly thrown away.

She keeps still and silent as I sit behind her, set her food and drink beside her, and offer a soft, gentle "Hello there." She doesn't respond.

Sighing, I hunch forward and take a bite of my bread while I mull over my options. I could ask her how she came to be 'touched' — 'defiled' being the more popular term — but what good would that do? I already knew the most important bits of that story. Maybe she wandered too far into the wilderness, maybe she came up on a ship's deck on a night that was too clear, or maybe she was one of the unluckiest ones — taken away within her own home while her parents were fast asleep. No matter what, the story of a faech's birth always ended in the same way: with a light in the sky — too bright and too fast to be the moon or a star — and with the child waking up with the claws, wings, hooves or tentacles of an animal.

After finishing both my bread and my mulling, I decide that, if I want the snake girl to open up, I'll have to lead by example.

"So... how did yours get rid of you?"

The snake girl doesn't answer, as I expected.

I look down into my lap, taking an interest in my paws as I start to share my story instead of listening to hers.

"Mine told me we were going on a little summer outing here in Asttreath. I think it was about ten years ago... yea, that's right, I was going on eight. We came from Donfirth up north and spent the morning walking through town before taking a stroll on the beach. After that we came back and they set down a little lunch basket on the hills outside of town — told me to keep watch over it while they fetched some water from a brook nearby." I sigh and close my eyes. "Of course, they never came back. I must have waited close to half an hour before I realized what'd happened. Didn't cry at first; I suppose I just couldn't believe it. After a while, I finally got the courage to get up and try and find a way home, but the road between Asttreath and Donfirth goes a long way through the woods, and I was too scared to go into the wilderness alone after what happened to me and my brother. So instead—"

"You had a brother?"

I look up. The snake girl is looking at me over her shoulder. I see her cold, tired face for the first time. It's a face no one that young should have.

"Yes," I say with a nod. I clear my throat and draw my mouth in a tight line. "We were together when it happened... stargazing. I know it sounds beyond foolish now but... it'd been so long since Donfirth had had an incident, and the field wasn't more than an acre beyond the edge of the village." I sniff and run a finger below my eye. "The light came too fast for us to do anything but shield our eyes in shock. In the next moment it was sunrise and I was lying in the tall grass with... these." I flex my paws and twitch my dog ears. "And of course, Oliver was gone. My brother, I mean." I look at the snake girl. "Did you have one?"

She nods.

"And they took him, too."

She nods again.

"From one lonely sister to another: I'm sorry."

The snake girl keeps her eyes on me for a moment before letting her head turn back towards the fireplace. She adjusts her blanket with a shuffle before asking "What happened after they left you?"

"Well, I ended up back in Asttreath after eating what was left of the lunch. Thinking back on it, I was very lucky that they left me in a town so far in the south — a lost faech just shy of eight probably wouldn't have lasted long in, say, Nordal.

"At first I wanted to do everything I could to get back home, but the more time I had to think on it, the more I realized that was a fool's goal. If they'd go as far as leaving me by my own, dozens of miles away from home, then it was obvious that 'mam' and 'da' just... didn't want me anymore."

I swallow and draw my mouth even tighter. "I think me realizing that — that was when the bottom fell out of my world. I'm sure you know the feeling of not being wanted. I'm sure you're still feeling it right now." Quietly as I can, I scoot a little closer. "It's an awful feeling, I know. But it doesn't have to last for the rest of your days. Do you want to know why I think that?"

The snake girl shivers under her covers. She doesn't say yes, but she doesn't say no either.

"I think that because, right now, I'm here with you in an orphanage started just for girls like you and me. Ten years ago, when I was still in rags and limping through the slush on Solsdæg Eve, there were no faech orphanages in Asttreath. Lord, there wasn't even a very big faech presence in Asttreath back then. By all means I shouldn't have made it through that first winter. But I did."

Laughter draws my attention behind me. Nick just finished another tale that his faech audience found quite funny. He chuckles on his stool, clutching his bowl and spoon as joy fills his face with a fresh batch of smile-induced wrinkles. I can't help but smile myself. I turn back to the little snake girl, hoping she got a look at Nick's contagious smile as well, but she's still staring into the fire.

After clearing my throat I continue. "I made it because I found someone who cared about me just as much as any loving mam or da ever could. It was the luck of the stars that I found someone like that when I did — when I was on the brink of giving up all together. But you don't have to rely on luck. You just have to be willing to rely on the kindness of Danny, or May, or any of the other little faech children that live here with you.

"So what do you think?" I ask, gently laying a paw on her shoulder. "Can you come join us for some warm soup and hot cider?"

The snake girl looks back again; her face is just as tired as before. After looking at me for a while, she asks "What's your name?"

I smile and take my paw back. "Olive. Yours?"

"Nora."

"Nora, eh? Lovely name. Short for Eleanor?"

Nora shakes her head. "Just Nora."

"Alright, Nora. Breakfast time?"

She glances at her cider and broth. She glances back at me. "Can I eat alone for now? I like staying close to the fire."


♦	♦	♦


It's the end of breakfast; the broth cauldron is as clean as a gutted trout. The children huddle around Nick and Emilia, sipping up their last cups of cider while they listen to the two storytellers finish up their last few tales of fact and fancy. May gathers up the bowls and spoons for washing while Daniel rests besides the pantry entrance, finishing up his own last cup of cider. Nora lies in front of the fire, her broth half-eaten.

"Any luck?" Daniel asks as I walk over to join him.

"I got her name and I got her to take five bites of broth," I say, sliding up beside Daniel and leaning against the wall along with him. "Baby steps, I guess."

"Yeah." Daniel takes his last sip of cider before shrugging. "Well, you did more than me and mum managed, so I count that as a victory. What's her name?"

"Nora. Just Nora."

"Ah. You think she'll be alright?"

It's my turn to shrug. "If I could make it four months in the street, I'm sure she can make it four months under a roof."

Daniel smiles. "Fair point."

"She'll be fine as long as she's in your hands, Danny."

"Y-Yeah, we'll take good care." Daniel sighs, then frowns as he looks down at the straw-strewn floor.

"Something on your mind?" I ask.

"Nnnn... well..." Daniel looks back up into my eyes. He has his lower lip tucked in — something I noticed he does whenever he's considering something very, very hard. "I... I dunno, it just seems a tad a rude of me to ask something like this after you've already done me a favor..."

My tail starts wagging again, lightly tapping against the wall. "Oh not at all. What is it?"

"N-Nothing, I just wanted to ask if you'd be a... be willing to come along with me later and help me with some last-minute errands before Solsdæg dinner and... andmaybedosomethingtogetherafter."

"What?"  I say, my heart thumping as fast as my tail.

"Help me with some last-minute—"

"Nononono," I say, smiling as I push off the wall and come a little closer. "After that. You said something after that!"

Daniel gulps and rubs the back of his neck. "Ah... I thought maybe we could take a walk along Lilystep pond. I've been told the ice makes it look like something out of a fairytale..." He turns his head away, his face looking hot enough to melt the snow outside. "I-I'm sorry, that—"

"Yes."

Daniel looks at me again. "B-Beg pardon?"

"Danny. Having some time alone with you would be my greatest Solsdæg present since my adoption." I clasp his cup-holding hand between my paws and stare into his eyes. "Yes — I would love to take a stroll around Lilystep with you."

After a moment of slack jawed wonder, Daniel's face brightens into the most precious smile I've seen this morning. "S-Splendid..." He takes a breath to start talking again, but all he can manage is a nervous laugh of happiness.

Tail wagging harder than a reed in a storm, I join in with a quiet giggle of my own.

So does an eavesdropper a few steps behind us.

Daniel and I glance back just in time to see Elisabeth skipping back to her faech friends in the middle of the room.

"Hm," Daniel says, "I guess everyone's going to know, now."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," I say. "Elisabeth's a good girl. She might give us a day's head start."

A chuckle from Daniel. "Should I use that time to put some distance between me and Nick?"

"Heaven's no — da'll be delighted. He's been teasing me about this for ages."

"Ages? How long—"

"Ay, where's me sack gone?" Nick's voice rises above the excited chatter of the faeches. Apparently the stories and cider have both dried up and the children are getting restless.

Daniel's eyes widen and he holds up a finger. " 'Scuse me a moment."

"Sure, of course," I say with a smile, letting go of his hand as he slips into the pantry. A few seconds later he pops out, Nick's sack swinging in his hand.

"Over here, Nick!" Daniel says, giving the sack a wave. I follow along behind him as he walks over to Nick and his crowd of faeches.

"Ah, thankye Danny boy!" Nick holds out his hand and takes the sack, jerking it up a bit to keep the faeches around his knees from pawing at it. "Now, now, little ones — hold your horses and gather round. There's plenty in here for everyone!"

If anything, Nick's words make the little crowd even more excited. Daniel and I shift around, doing our best to look stern as we try to hush them up. But it's a half-hearted attempt — we're smiling just as much as the next happy, bubbly child.

"Oi!" May says with two sharp claps. "The man's just fed you all a piping hot breakfast; you'd do well to show him some manners!"

"Yes, Mrs. Brandon," the children say in perfect unison; they must have a lot of practice saying it.

"Thankye, May," Nick says, "You're a peach. Now, before I open this sack o' wonders, I'd just like to say it was all thanks to the work of our luvely Emilia, here." Nick waves a hand at the Reindeer woman. She modestly raises her hand with a smile as the crowd gives her a small round of pattering applause. None of the faech's eyes leave the sack, though.

"Aye," Nick continues, "I might have hatched the idea, but she's the one that stayed up well into the night, stuffing and sewing till her bare hands were cold as stone. So!" Nick motions for the front row to scoot back. When they do, he plops the sack onto the ground. The faeches catch their breath and lean forward. "Now I'm sure you all must be thinking 'Stuffing and sewing? Why, that's dolls! What's so special about those?' Well, you ungrateful rascals, I just thought it was a crying shame" — Nick tugs the drawstring loose, jams a hand into the sack, and pulls out the first present — "that no one ever crafts dolls like this!"

As soon as they see the ragdoll in Nick's hands, the little faeches let their breaths out in a collective coo of amazement. Even I have to hold a paw to my mouth as I whisper "Oh da, you sweetheart," under my breath.

In Nick's hand is a smiling, button-eyed, yarn-haired ragdoll — a ragdoll with eight strips of stuffed cloth where its legs would have been.

A faech doll.

"Merry Solsdæg, Avril, luve," Nick says, offering the ragdoll to the little octomaid. She creeps forward, hands shaking as she reaches up and takes the half-octopus ragdoll into her arms. She hugs it close to her chest, her eyes shining and her lips trembling as if she'll burst into tears at any moment.

"Th-Thank you, Nick," she whispers

Nick smiles and gently pats her shoulder. "You're very much welcome, luve. You'll take good care of her, right?"

Avril nods her head with a sniff.

After giving her a nod of his own, Nick looks around and says "Well, what are you all waiting for?" He tugs the sack open even wider and offers it forward. "They're all for you!"

With surprising order, the faech children crowd around the bag and dig through it, emptying it within moments. Though a few dolls end up on the floor, most end up in the hands of the little ones. They mill about each other, trading and swapping dolls until everyone gets one that matches with their animal parts. I notice the first one to accomplish a match-up besides Avril is the harpy girl — the heifer satyr was very set on making sure her friend was able to get her doll despite her clumsy wings.

"Brilliant," Daniel whispers. "Bloody brilliant, that is." He looks at me. "Did you...?"

I shake my head with a smile. "This is just as much a surprise for me."

"Just brilliant." Daniel looks back to the crowd; we both stand back and enjoy the sight of the faeches sharing and playing with their new dolls.

But I notice one doll in particular. It lies on the floor just inches away from the sack. A snake girl. After making sure none of the other children have their eyes on it, I walk over and pick it up, giving it a long, hard look.

"Didn't know you were still keen on dolls, luve," Nick says. "I would've asked Emilia to make you one."

"Mh," I say, keeping my eyes on the doll. Eventually, I turn my head up and look at the fireplace. Nora is still lying alone in the firelight, her broth still half-eaten. Seems she hasn't even looked over once.

"Da?"

"Yes, luve?"

I turn and look at Nick, a small smile on my face.

"What do you think about another adoption?"