Holiday Hijinks

It had happened every year, for the last thirty years or so, without fail. Nicholas St. North, Guardian of Wonder, could not explain it. Every Christmas, at some point on his ride around the world delivering gifts, he would feel something. Something… curious was the only way he could think of to describe it; it wasn't exactly pleasant or unpleasant, but it always left him with a vague feeling of disquiet once it had passed. It reminded North of the feelings he would get when walking through a forest alone and suddenly coming across a cold spot that sent a shiver up your spine. He believed people referred to it as walking through a ghost circle.

The reindeer obviously felt something too, and this year had plainly been a bit worse than the last.

He had been flying west somewhere over the north Atlantic when the feeling struck him this time. It was over as quickly as it had come, but North nonetheless shivered in his thick woolen cloak.

"Whoa! Whoa, bratva! Easy now!" He shouted to his reindeer over the whistling wind, tugging frantically at the reins as the deer tossed their heads and bugled loudly, apparently trying to run off every which way. Donner seemed particularly upset, lowering his head and kicking up his heels.

After another minute or so of frantic rein-work and reassuring calls, the reindeer had calmed down and were once again flying in tandem.

North exhaled heavily, finally leaning back in his seat.

"Dobrota, that was certainly new!" He muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, several miles back, Death's horse had his ears pinned to his head and was prancing and snorting angrily while a disgruntled Death rearranged his cloak.

"Every year, without fail," Death muttered, pulling his hood further down over his head. This was the thirtieth year in a row North and his entire team of reindeer had run straight through him. Humans he barely noticed when they passed through him, but the Moon's spirits grated on his nerves because of the magic the Lunanoff Prince had used to grant them their semi-immortality.

"Reindeer are so rude! Absolutely no consideration for anybody else around! I swear, it's like they think those huge sticks on their heads will let them get away with anything!" the horse complained with another angry snort.

"Honestly, with all the times he's run into us, I'm surprised North hasn't learned to sense us," Death replied as he picked up the reins again, mildly amused at his steed's words.

"It's not funny," the horse grumbled, stomping a hoof for emphasis.

A few hours later Death and his horse were standing on the rocky outcropping above the lake in Burgess, near Jack's home, watching the laughing winter spirit flying through the skies above as snowflakes swirled down all around him. No matter that the weather had been a bit warm recently, Jack always made certain the children of Burgess had a white Christmas.

That was until North showed up; then the horse spent most of his time glaring daggers in the Guardian's direction.

And Death apparently wasn't the only one who noticed; less than half an hour after North's arrival, Jack landed lightly next to them.

"Who spit in your oats this morning?" Jack asked the pale horse, who promptly pinned his ears at North again and shook his head to show the object of his irritation.

Jack's eyebrows rose. "North?" He asked with an incredulous half-laugh. "What did he do to you?"

Death's horse whinnied angrily, flicking his tail.

"We had a bit of a run-in with North and his team earlier tonight," Death replied, feeling his own eyebrows climb his forehead.

"Run-through is more like it!"

Jack laughed. "You don't like reindeer, I take it?" he asked the horse.

The pale steed snorted loudly and stomped his hoof. Death chuckled and leaned forward, patting his horse's neck. The horse exhaled heavily and relaxed, but he was obviously still pouting. Jack grinned and rubbed the horse's forehead. The horse whickered, pressing his head into Jack's hand.

All three heads jerked up in surprise when a white arrow with silver fletching whistled past them, streaking onward to bury itself into the seat of North's sleigh.

And all three heads turned in tandem back in the direction the arrow had come from to see the figure of the White Horseman astride his steed at the top of the rise, his bow still held loosely in his left hand.

"What did you do?" Death asked as Pestilence nudged his horse into a trot and guided it down the hill toward them. Sensing the power in Pestilence's arrow he had a feeling he knew, but he couldn't quite believe Pestilence would do such a thing.

The White Horseman gave him a blank look as he slung his bow back over his shoulder, bringing his horse to a stop beside Death's. "I'm certain you know."

"Pardon me for being a little incredulous; practical jokes aren't exactly prevalent in your repertoire."

"Consider it a bit of… playful retaliation for earlier."

At the word playful, Death shared a disbelieving look with Jack, then looked at Pestilence with slight concern.

"I think your foal has infected him," Death's horse said, sounding slightly alarmed.

"What did you do?" Jack asked, slightly hesitant.

Pestilence cocked his head slightly to the left as he considered Jack. "Gave them all a minor infliction that should prove… entertaining when the reindeer receive their breakfast tomorrow morning. Oh, no need to look so worried, it will wear off in a few days."

"What did you give them?" Jack asked, curious now.

Death could swear he saw Pestilence's mouth quirk upward just the slightest bit. "Hay fever."

Happy Holidays, everyone! Here's a little holiday special for you; I've already written the next chapter, but it's a little on the sad side and I didn't want to depress people on Christmas Eve. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not that evil :)