RED ALERT! RED ALERT! STAND CLEAR OF THE LOADING DOCK DOORS. SANTA’S SLEIGH HAS CLEARANCE FOR TAKE OFF! A whirl of wind swept through the dock before the metal doors slammed shut, plunging the room into silence. Two elves crouched low in the corner, hands above their heads to protect against the elements that had blown in from the outside. Now that the coast was clear, they stood and dusted themselves off. “Another successful year, Herbert,” one said, a lopsided grin in place
Musim ducked behind the ragged leaves of a lambsquarter plant. Humans were never quite quick enough to catch a glimpse of him, but he preferred to play it safe, all the same. Evening shadows crept across the faded light of day, the one that marked the third rise of the moon for Musim and his journey. The elf had set out on his own days before, not a spick or speck to his name, other than the imagination it took to scrounge for food and a spot to rest his weary head at night.