My dearest children,
How very Strange it must feel to age as swiftly as Your Kind! We elves mature slowly, live long, and are by and large born into our Trades, which we Practice and Perfect for decades stretching to centuries, all here at the North Pole. But you: You must grow up and decide in No Time at All what to do with yourselves, learn All You Can in a few short years, and do your best to make a Way for yourselves in the Wider World. It brings a Tear as much as a Twinkle to my eye, as it must for your Dear Parents, to see you grow and leave the proverbial Nest.
But my, what Fine Fledglings you are! Master Brendan, woolly and bearded as old Lewis’s Tumnus, nearly finished with your first degree and with dear Miss Wilke by your side, on the cusp of so many Possibilities and Horizons; Master Gabriel, tall and straight as an aspen, traveling the roads and sharing the Good News like the Apostles of old; the beautiful Miss Emma, ever the elf, spreading Holiday Cheer throughout the year just as We do: with thoughtful Gifts, kind Words and only the best Baked Goods; and Master Trevor—in High School already?—with such talent and love for Music that all the Day-Watchers prefer Seamus Farseer to check in on you in the morning, before School, to hear you play and progress on the piano!
And then, of course, is Lovely Miss Lily: sharp and smart and quite Elfin yourself, with your Pixie cut and eyes like Dark Pools beneath a moonlit sky. It is a Blessing for me and your parents both to have a youngling with such enthusiasm for All Things Christmas as well as a Love of Toys, which are still very much in Our Wheelhouse, as your Father would say. You sent no questions with your Note to Santa, but you mentioned to your Dad that you wondered whether that white-bearded Wonderworker would know you wanted a Vikings shirt even though you forgot to mention it! Your parents took care of that for you, but the answer is, Of course He knows! He always knows!
Not only is the Watcher Corps well aware of all such Wants and Conversations, but should Things change drastically in the Last Hours before Christmas (or Heaven forbid, we Elves make a mistake—for we are no more Perfect than you Big Folk!), the Swifters sweep into action. These the most fleet-footed and stealthy of Elves make Emergency Switches and Last-Minute Deliveries, unseen by even the keenest of eyes of night-bird or -beast! The first Swifters were Flit Golightly, a skilled and silent Hunter with bow and blade, even on the open tundra, and his fiancée, Feather Fletcher. Late in your 19th Century, the two delivered several forgotten Gifts one Christmas morning even as the Sun rose in the East, and No One below the Circle was the wiser! Their firstborn, Flint, was as lead-footed and clumsy as our Kind come, but remains a master Bowyer and Arrow-wright in his Mother’s line; his younger twin siblings, Felix and Felicity, now handle last-minute deliveries in the Wee Hours!
Such stories I could tell, had I the time to Ramble—but alas (and at last), it is Christmas Eve! Perhaps your Father and I should collaborate again on a story? A Pipe and a Pint would help matters, but we are Not Allowed to meet Your Kind face-to-face, or what would it mean to Believe? Faith, then, children, and a Very Happy Christmas to you all!
Yours Still and Always,
Q
Siberius Quill
