Exton

Don't get me wrong; I enjoy Christmas, Yule, Midwinter or whatever you want to call it this week, but I've never understood the obsession Americans have with it. I mean, after all, it's only one day out of the year! We Vikings know how to party; with us, Midwinter lasts a full twelve nights. Who do you think gave you the twelve days of Christmas, anyway?

Still, if it makes Star happy, I'll happily traipse all over the woods looking for decorations. Mya has already picked up a quarter-ton of pine cones - enough to decorate the cabin, the Tavern, and half of Exton to boot, and Star has snipped an incredible amount of holly. I'm pulling a small sled behind us with the Chunk O' Wood I found to use for our Yule Log this year. All we need now is some ivy and maybe some mistletoe; but this last is proving to be a pain in the ass to find. Mistletoe is a parasitic plant and generally grows high up in the trees it lives on; so I'm relieved when Mya sings out that she's found some.

I stop at the base of the oak Mya hovers in front of and look up… and up… and up… and then I see it, at the extreme edge of my sight. I sigh, but Star looks so hopeful, I can't disappoint her.

I leap and catch the trunk and then start working my way up the tree. Once I reach the lower branches, the going is easier, though I still have to check each branch for deadwood before putting my weight on it.

I'm up maybe ten or twelve feet when I hear Mya scream; and looking down, I see her in combat with wicked-looking fae with skin of sickly green and sullen, vicious features.

Goblins.

With a berserker roar, I launch myself from the tree, doing a quick tuck and roll as I land and coming up with Keon's wedding gifts in my hands. The little bastards try to flank me, using spears to try to keep me at a distance; but I haven't been a soldier for nearly a thousand years without learning a few tricks. I cut the head from one javelin, then seize the shaft - and suddenly I have a decent quarterstaff.

Mya is fighting like a berserker herself, dive-bombing the goblins, using hit-and-run tactics that keep them from drawing a bead on her. I crack goblin skulls left and right, breaking the odd rib or so in the process. One gets too close to my left-hand dagger and a gout of drab-green blood splashes out to blind one of his fellows.

Suddenly Mya cries out and I see her falling, spiraling down in a dive that can have but one outcome. I hurl the staff at the nearest goblin and throw myself headlong, giving the demifae something soft to land on. She's swearing in Elvish, Troll and Goblin, with a few choice words even I don't recognize. The fall knocks the wind out of her for a second; then the tirade begins anew as I rise and look for more opponents; but the goblins have scattered, gone as if they never were there.

Mya is fine, though one arm hangs limp and useless; I can tell by the uninterrupted invective. A thrill of horror runs through me when I realize -

"Star!"

No answer.

"STTTAAAARRRRR!"

And then I see her, lying motionless at the foot of a slight incline. My heart leaps into my throat and I leap three steps at a time, sliding the last few feet on my heels.

"Star…?"

I'm answered by a sighing moan. I feel for broken bones. Finding none, I offer up a quick prayer of thanks to the Aesir. I carefully roll her over - and there's blood on the ground, soaking through the thighs of her jeans. I fumble for my cell, praying Rowan will answer….