POUI | CAVE HILL JOURNAL OF CREATIVE WRITING

“ Nephil, please. I had it under control.” Jones glanced at me. “ But I mean, uh — thanks

for your help and everything. Sir.”

“You’ re very welcome, Violence. I believe your mother’ s eyesight will be improving this

year.”

“I— hey —thanks, Santa.”

I nodded. “ Now for s terner matters. Gar. My friend.”

He came forth, and his beard was low.

“ Gar , why have you done this thing?”

“Sir, m y bones have grown weary with the labor that was once my delight. I craved —”

h is gaze lowered further still “— I coveted a place of ease in which to live out my days. Now

they will end in shame.”

“ Perhaps. And yet, the weresharks on our Eastern front grow bolder. I have not yet asked

for volunteers, because the post is one of deepest solitude and cold; but I need a scout to dwell

by the polar sea. He would be entrusted with a Seal of Warding, and admonished that if his watch

upon the waves grew slothful, then he would indeed b e shamed.”

His head rose slowly, and his eyes kindled. “ My vigilance will never sleep. This I vow

by the strong right arm of the Mightiness. ”

“That is well. Now: Elladonna Fargazer, daughter of Nathanael.”

She smiled coolly. “Father Christmas.”

“I strive in all ways to be a giver of gifts. But you laid claim for selfish cause to that

which is mine, made at great cost, for the protection of innocent life.”

“I myself am innocent, unjustly banished. And my claim to items made with angel’s

power is no less than your own. My father too is of that kind.”

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