In the Rocky Mountains of Colorado
Beri of the Moors decided the best course of action—for him, at any rate—was to stand back this Solstice and take direction when given. And to keep his thoughts on human holiday celebrations to himself. Beside him, Fern Fields nearly skipped up the gravel road with a lively energy equaling that of the fox he’d spotted chasing a hare last week. Everyone riding the school bus up the canyon had enthusiastically talked about their holiday plans, but of course he and Fern couldn’t say much about theirs, since their relatives would be arriving through a magical portal, not by car or plane.
“You are gonna love winter break,” Fern gushed, and he had to smile. “What are you most excited about doing for your first Christmas?”
“Spending time with you,” Beri said. “And sleeping.”
Fern grinned, her brown eyes brightening. “Don’t let my mom hear you say those two things in the same sentence.” She swatted his chest, her hand sliding over his down vest to corral him around the neck. She pressed her lips to his.
Mmm, nice. Before he could draw her closer, she shifted back and laughed, her breath puffing white and warm in the chill mountain air.
“But I know what you mean,” she said. “We never have enough time together.” Long, black hair swinging, she linked her arm through his and tugged him along, clearly too impatient to kiss more.
Being an exchange student at Fern’s human school ate up more hours than he’d expected when they first started dating, and because he still lived on the Isle of Giuthas, wizards there continued to request his help for various wildlife and magical tasks. Beri leaned toward Fern and whispered, “I dinnae tell the elders we had a break. I still plan to come here every day and nap on your couch.”
“Ha. You wish!”
They turned onto another of the small mountain town’s roads, and the roof of Fern and her mother’s home came into view, the modern cabin hidden by evergreen boughs of Ponderosa pine and spruce trees.
“Do you think it’ll snow today?” he asked. The one early snowfall in these mountains had melted fast with the warm weather that had followed. Compared to the coast of the British Isles where he’d grown up, Colorado’s dry weather gave him no clue if another snowstorm was coming.
Fern glanced toward the clouds building in the afternoon skies. “It might. We should carry some ornament boxes from the garage as we head inside. One less trip for later.”
Snow didn’t hold the same interest for Colorado-reared Fern. “I can carry quite a lot,” he said.
“We have a gazillion things Mom has made over the years. Glass pieces I wouldn’t let her sell because I loved them so. Things I made that she saved and ones we’ve traded for at craft shows. You’ll love the animals! It’s mostly animals. There’s this sweet little hedgehog made of a dried teasel with a red scarf…” And she was off, describing one animal after another.
’Twas odd to hear her coo over wild beasts wearing bells and whatnot. From the talk of other students in his classes, gift-giving was a big part of their human holiday. He’d quizzed Fern on the traditions that she and her mum, Lady Heather, kept and was relieved to learn they more so celebrated Winter Solstice, like the Windborne wizards he’d grown up with, and in a modest fashion. Good, because no one on the isle had the trade credit in the human world to do anything extravagant, least of all him, an apprentice.
Still, he worried that the gift he’d prepared for Fern might not be enough. It’d be the first thing he gave her. Courting—or rather, dating—in the human world confused him, perhaps more than attending one of their schools. There, his Scottish accent and mannerisms allowed him to brush off the bits and bobs he didn’t understand. With Fern, he wanted to get things right.
She poked him. “So? What do you think? Will celebrating Winter Solstice with us be as good as an Isle of Giuthas celebration?”
“It’s more important that your mum and Merlin agreed we should hold it at your cabin. They can find so much to fight about.” Fern’s parents had been separated and out of contact since she was two. Merlin, her father, had raised Beri after his parents died, with Fern’s brother, on the Isle of Giuthas where they still lived—but the portal between the isle and the Fields’ cabin now got a lot of use.
“No kidding.” Fern became quiet as they neared her home. “Beneath it all, I think Mom appreciates how much Dad has helped these last few months. The craziness of completing her orders and selling at fall craft shows is over, and she’s even promised to quit glassworking early today. I’m gonna make her stick to it, whether or not she thinks she has enough pieces for tomorrow’s show. Come on.” Fern dragged him the last few yards to the garage that her mother used as a studio.
The door was locked and the window shades down. Fern keyed in the code.
“No, no, no!” came a muffled cry from inside. A moment later, Lady Heather cracked open the door, blocking its entrance, and they tumbled back.
A passerby would find that funny since Fern—six feet tall—and Beri—nearly six and a half—towered over Heather Fields’ slight five feet of height. That extra height didn’t matter, though. Lady Heather exuded energy, all the more to humans who had no idea what power it was. People deferred to the petite woman, even when she was dressed in a burn-stained sweatshirt over old jeans and her long hair was braided and tied back to keep it from her flameworking torch.
Brow furrowed, she looked between them. “What are you doing home from school?” she asked in her Irish accent.
“Half day, Mom,” Fern said cheerily. “They know it’s a waste to keep us there with vacation. Whatcha making? Secret holiday gifts?”
* * *
Solstice Gifts is available as an ebook from me directly. Also available as a thin, 35 page paperback through online retailers. (Contact me if you’d like a signed copy!) Visit its book page for links.