Hi, guys! This morning we've got ourselves a double-bill, especially for Christmas. Long have I laboured on this 'un. Like, subscribe, but please do NOT share! Thank you
Chapter Two
The Banquet
It was in the middle of winter, around the time when Santa Claus boards his giant butterfly and departs the Chortling Vale for the homes of millions of children all over the world. The winter was too dark and cold to go foraging for food, so Öster and his mother were confined to the cave for the time being. They were already starving to death within their comfortable cave, which Laralet daughter of Tcharlie (or so the greyhound was named) had stolen from a badger by cutting open his jugular. The greyhound mourned this with great sorrow for some time, for she had regarded her killing talent, this great beast that consumed here, to be thus concluded. One day, when the wind howled across the world like an angry god, Öster and his mother held a special meeting. The afternoon twilight glowed like melting butter, and the dim light made the cave feel dark. Öster sat opposite his mother, halfway across the cave, their positions across from each other parallel to the entrance of the cave, wherein they had a view of the white snow.
"We cannot endure this agony any longer," bewailed Öster. "We need to do something now or we shall die." Laralet howled sadly, for she knew that there was nothing that
they could do. Öster resolved to do something himself, and, distracting his mother with a pebble, he fled the cave and went on the long trek in search of nourishment. Nyx had already enveloped the world in her dark cloak by that time, and it was so dark that the
rabbit could only make out some aspects of the forest, such as the trees, very dimly. It terrified Öster, standing out in the darkness, steam emerging from his mouth and
nostrils, and he was petrified lest he should forget his way home and be left out in the
cold further still. Even if the wind had calmed down, the north wind that blew was
inconsequential to him. Even the robins meant nothing to him. He had one goal, one
motive, one purpose and that purpose was food.
Meanwhile, oblivious was he to the notions that someone- or something- had a destiny for him, nor could he have fathomed that someone had been reading his mind. He wandered blindly through the thick snow, searching for grass, but none were to be found. A robin appeared on a branch, and said hello to him. Öster at first couldn't see the robin, for robins are dark red in hue and any brighter would have distinguished the robin. But he very faintly saw the avian outline and hoped that it was a friend. "Hail, son of birds," he called in salutation.
"Why comes a rabbit to this part of the forest?" inquired the robin.
"I am in search of food. I know not where I can find it, nor the location of the most immediate source, but if you could exert yourself to provide a hint, I shall thank you."
"I do not know where you can find it," replied the robin, "for I am but struggling to even survive myself."
The rabbit was about to surrender any probability of searching for food-indeed, irritation at the robin for being as incompetent as to be ignorant as well as despair and
resignation to death had but crossed his mind- when, lo! some new fresh grass was there, ready to be eaten. As Öster approached it, he began to feel nervous. What if it were some cruel trick, some false grass implanted there to lure him into danger? But it tasted well, even though it was cold, and the rabbit stalked back, hoping lest his foster mother kill him and eat him.
He returned to the cave, only to find a huge feast awaiting him. Laralet had gone hunting after he had left, despite that it was cold, and had accidentally killed a mountain wolf, and it was plump and good. She had also snatched two chickens from a nearby farm, at great risk of her life, by penetrating the coop where they were shut up for the winter. The daughter of Tcharlie pushed some chicken towards him, and the bunny began to dissect it and taste its meat, his mouth close to the meal, and vapour passing over the flesh. It felt gorgeous, even though it was raw, and it made a significant alteration in his natural diet.
"Better to preserve this supply," ejaculated Laralet, "for I do not want us captured and killed within a fortnight." "But, pray, how shall we preserve it?" cried Öster. They kept it in a cold part of the den, so cold that it could preserve the food for weeks, for no sunlight fell on that part, it being so far back into the sett. The squirrels used granaries, and had done since the dawn of the new world, but Öster and his mother had just received this idea.
They did not eat much during the long winter, and they were still confined to the cave, lest they perish. For warmth they huddled together, obviously fearful lest they move far and perish. The blissful pipe music of the winter deities resounded across the world, and, while Öster was initially enthusiastic about it, he eventually grew discontented with it.
The winter passed, and spring came, flowers bursting into bloom. At long last, the beasts emerged from their winter hibernation, and began to frolick good and full among the fields. The firmament glowed blue, its shining bounds full of clouds. Öster emerged from the cave, scratched himself and bounced down towards the fields.
Chapter Three
The Visit to Santa
One day afterwards, Laralet and Öster found themselves visiting Santa's conglomeratory factory on a grand tour. He had but recently punched a dragon, and sowed the dragon's extracted teeth, from which sprang the elves, creatures with black fur and black eyes; they are the fathers of the Toons unto this day.
Öster gazed hither in wonderment at this place, for everything had the most delicate design. Hangings of orange tapestries hung from the walls, the floor was made of polished marble, and, at every bench or so, elves were working. One elf, a rabbit-like elf with tall black ears, marched up to him and started yelling at him, "Hurry yourself! Honestly, callest thou an elf?"
Öster replied, "I am not an elf, I am a rabbit."
"Yea, and I have a waistcoat and pocket-watch! Return you to your labours!"
But Santa merely laughed and said, "Do not be afeared, rabbit, for he is Realmwood, head of all my elves. He is insistent that we manage to make good our year this year." Realmwood tapped his large foot in irritation and hopped off to other areas of the factory in order to further fulfil his professional duties. Öster was somewhat confused and perturbed by the elf's resemblance to his own species. He hoped that there be some conspicuous distinction between his kind and the elves.
The other tour guests, namely a griffin, a brackman and a gimp, shrugged their heads and whistled. The tour was far and few between, for the elves do not allow many of them to pass in their domains, lest they mix themselves up with other creatures that look the same.
Outside, a group of local children waged playful war on the ice, while the winter winds blew around them. The tour moved on to Santa's house, which he had built with supernatural guidance, to the great and lofty stables where his giant butterfly was kept, to his post room and all over the workshop. Öster felt himself somewhat dazzled by the splendid wonder of the place. Everywhere, the festive spirit manifested itself in the form of great red hangings trimmed with gold. These hangings were most prevalent within the confines of the stable, where they decorated the whole room, save for the window at the end. Here the giant butterfly sat, its plumage a mixture of ivory and oricalcum, six metres tall and eighty cubits wide. Öster dared not deprive himself of the chance to stroke its great head, which it gladly resigned itself to, for giant butterflies do not eat rabbits, and the giant butterfly itself has no choice but to obey Santa. "Lady mother, may I have this chance?" asked a young gimp, tugging the female gimp. "Nay," was her response. The giant butterfly whirred and its wings fluttered as the rabbit stroked it with his paw. Laralet tried to pull him back with her teeth, but Öster told her not to try. "I am fine," said he, "and no dog may restrain me."
Laralet growled. "You whelp of infidel! Your refusal to allow others to assist you will only lead to your own undoing!" The giant butterfly reposed for a moment, and Santa partook in its stroking himself and added that the giant butterfly was good to enable Öster (which he referred to as "the young visitor") to stroke it, but he would make an exception just this one time. He further explained his history with the giant butterfly; how it was hatched from a gargantuan cocoon at the morning of the world, the last of its kind left in existence, how he cared for it, fed it, and provided it with everything- all of which he had undertaken after the butterfly had come out- and about how he and the giant butterfly formed a close kindred with one another. "Perhaps you remember," said he, "that you believe that I ride reindeer every Christmas Eve. Well it is all nonsense. I do not know who is responsible for this story, nor indeed do I condone it, but I am happy to let people believe what they believe, for none can stand in their way. But come, let us proceed to my office."
***
Santa's office was a hexagonal room, with convex walls at every turn, and a rather large statue of himself as he had looked in his younger days. The architraves were carved with Latin translations of various Christmas carols, and the floor was parqueted. The fireplace was designed in the likeness of the Krampus' head, his mouth composing the whole circumference of the fireplace, and the top comprising the mantelpiece. At the end of the room, in front of the fireplace was a large desk, and next to it, a wooden cabinet. Öster's attention span had wavered significantly and he was starting to feel bored and tired of it all. Santa once again launched into the tedious monologue about the ordinary production rate of his office. Introducing it as "where the magic happens", he entered a tangent about how the office was constructed by the jinn and how it, along with the whole factory, was constructed in a whole night.
Öster raised his paw and said, "Sir, is it necessary to heed you?" To this, Laralet growled in frustration. Santa removed his rounded spectacles, polished them and replaced them upon his nose. "Indeed, not. However, if you have still interest in the running of the workshop, then listen. Listening is learning, after all. I am not forcing you but if you wish to listen, then cease hindering us and let us continue."
They visited the boiler room, where the an elf strained to lift a gigantic shovel on whose blade were great lumps of coal that he had to throw into the boiler in order to enable it to continue being heated. The fire inside the boiler arose and fumed, and Öster found it but a chore to cope with the intense heat. Besides the light from the boiler, the room was quite dark and, in the dim light, Öster could barely see the other tour guests. He heard the growling of Laralet, though, in the dark.
***
"You are so obnoxious!" fumed Laralet, as she and Öster took a swan boat back to Austria. "After all my efforts, my booty, my spoils, you have to slang Vater Christmas by insulting his workshop! Do not you know how irritatingly prevalent it is?"
"Truly, I am sorry, mother," replied Öster as they travelled up the great river Main and into Austria. "And well may you be," said she. "Moreover, you should write an apology to Santa."
"But I cannot write, mother, nor can I read."
"Well," said she, "such is unfortunate."
