Editing credit to Typhoonflame and ZzzSleepyCreeper, character credit to NightStrike the Dragon.

Vic's Volumes - December Edition

Sent by an anonymous Giftgiver.

A giftgiver came one wintry night through the front opening.

For all the hall to see, they were the color of peaches and round as an apricot, free and gay with holiday cheer in them. They lit up the room like a moon globe, with an emotional warmth sweeping through the hall. Their green eyes lit up like a twinkling star and the scales underneath them flushed pink like the lights further North. Their voice thrummed with the love and gentleness of a winter's morning snowfall upon IceWing scales. And there was that memorable grin and the laughter that entered the hall came booming a "Ho, ho, ho!"

All the dragonets came cheering and rushing towards the giftgiver, embracing them with the open manner only dragonets could have, before age and time and experience worn out those little kindnesses unless watched over and held tight in one's heart. Beyond the smiling dragons in the hall, some parents barked and yelled that they'd overwhelm the poor giftgiver, suffocate the dragon and leave them with no room to embrace others. But, no worries, this giftgiver was large enough in body and heart for all the little dragonets.

One of the oldest dragonets amount them, the blanket-wearing dragonet, asked where they'd gone to.

"Ah! I've discovered," they said with a wink as the dragonet gave an eye-roll and a smile, "more ancient ruins from the teeth of Pyrrhia! Certainly more pleasant-looking than Queen Scarlet's, I imagine, and a wolf's deal more clean, I'll grant you," they said in a breathless manner, like there were many and more adventures inside them, just waiting to burst forth, "I have walked the lonely crags and found horned giants, walked along the Kingdom of Sea's beaches and found tiny two-legged diggers, and even swam in a dream lake or two in the holes of the Claws of the Clouds Mountains! Quite a pleasant sensation, felt like treasure dabbled against my claws once again..." the giftgiver said that last part with a hint of melancholy and remembered joy.

The dragonets clamored for more, proofs of the giftgiver's adventures, or souvenirs from their many journeys for them to delight and partake in a sliver of another's great dream. A gift.

The giftgiver simply smiled, "Ah, ah, ah! I've brought you something greater than liquid clouds or dreamwater or even dark giants taller than the greatest dragons ever. I've brought you all the greatest gift of all: a story."

Most of the dragonets cheered at that prospect, but the IceWings were star-struck, most of all, except the blanket-wearing dragonet, who did not understand, and another, sullen and sad and disbelieving.

One IceWing had the courage to ask if the giftgiver was the Giftgiver of the Winter Solstice. The one that came to herald the new year for the Ice Kingdom with gifts to bring joy to the dragonets. The giftgiver simply chuckled and said, "No, I'm not that one, but I am one now. Anyone can."

A non-IceWing dragonet asked who and what this Giftgiver was and what the Winter Solstice was about. The giftgiver's eyes perked up with surprise. "You don't know who the Giftgiver is?" they asked. The dragonet only replied that they knew the IceWings in Springwood took a period of peace after their work for a week before their new year began. Springwood had lit up a moon globe at the start of the week, and lit another one for each morrow until a week passed... and the last moon globe was lit to bring in the new year. They simply did not know where this Giftgiver came in.

"Well, the Giftgiver is certainly a mystery of the ages. No one knows exactly where they came from. From what I heard, I've heard many tales on the being. From a prince or a royal baseborn, to a monster or a fool, to a thief or a liar, to a warrior or a coward, to a sorcerer or a tyrant, to a blackhearted rogue or a selfless hero, to finally one who gives gifts, the Giftgiver has made quite a reputation for themself. Still, one thing is for sure, every week before the Winter Solstice, they go into towns and villages with their blue cloak, lined with white fur, and magical sack full of toys, and give to the impoverished, the empty of joy, and those without love from others whatever their heart desires so that no dragonet, big and small, will end the year sad and rejected and alone."

The sad and sullen and disbelieving IceWing dragonet snorted at this, suggesting that the Giftgiver was a lie. That they never met them, so they must not be real. That it must just be some random IceWing who dressed in gaudy and freakish clothing to look impressive and gave once, being blown up to a legend in the making. That there was nothing real to them at all. That they were just a story.

The giftgiver only smiled. "Well, they are a story, of course. But who's to say they're not real? You're in luck though, for I have a grand tale to spin for you all. Let us speak of this tale like the songs of manatees and the howls of wolves! But first, let's journey towards the fireplace and comfy seats. I love a good patch of earth to rest upon, but I'm not sure yours would much prefer it!" the giftgiver said with a gregarious laugh, moving all to the storytelling area. They asked one of the dragons for a tea-kettle and cups for all the dragonets. Holding the kettle handle in their teeth, they walked towards the hall's fireplace, a warm plot of stone, where the heat wrapped even the stones in their glow.

Settling down, the giftgiver placed the tea kettle right in front of them, pouring tea into the cups laid before the dragonets with their tail. As the dragonets drank up merrily, the giftgiver placed the tea kettle on the floor and drank from their own cup. "Very well! This is the tale of the Seven Sights of Winter!"

(No) Movie Nights for December and January

This tale begins a week ago, with an animus stone borrowed from a mouse. A quite knowledgeable mouse, I'll admit. Smarter than me, and more learned in the ways of animals than I! In any case, I borrowed the stone after she had repaired it—able to tinker magical artifacts, another skill a mouse has that I lack, hah!—so that you dragonets could have a moving pictures night... until I heard a cry from a village! That of a dragonet's! So I flew over to there, only to find a unruly band of bandits terrorizing the village! They were witless and rude thugs with no imagination in their petty terrorizing of the dragonets. Hoarding treats and food and kicking pets like villains are wont to do! Unimagination is the least of their crimes though, and I won't tell you the rest of their terrors, but know that they were gripping the town in fear and hoped to steal its future...

But there is one who knows no fear, and they know the best gift is a present. And they were already there. I witnessed them, burly and stocky, with a frosty beard of spikes on their chin, drapped in their blue-and-snow cloak and carrying a magical bag, with eyes of righteous winter in them. As the bandit leader demanded who they were, the presence announced that they were Guardian Winter. And that the bandits were not welcome if all they did was take instead of give. The bandits took obvious offence at this, laughing that they were bandits and that it was their right to take from the poor and innocent and asked what gift they'd take from Guardian Winter. Guardian Winter had not much liked that answer. So they gave the bandit leader the best gift they thought up: a sound thumping to the ground. All the other bandits scurried away like rats, slipping into the shadows of their villainy.

But there was still the issue of the village. For they had their toys and joys taken by petty, small-hearted bandits. Guardian Winter only gave a smile and asked a dragonet what their heart's desire wanted. From their magical sack, they took out a slab of deer. For another, a necklace of bear-tooth to match their claws. For yet another, an earring to match their golden eyes and their heart of gold. With all the dragonets, Guardian Winter had given all and more their heart's desires, and then I walked foward and asked them if I could join in.

Guardian Winter smiled and asked what my heart's desire was, but I waved my talon away, my heart's desire was helping this poor town and I had a stone to give them an experience of wonder and joy. With a sparkle in their eyes, they ho, ho, ho'd and hugged me like a brother. With the village dragonets all rapt in wait, I told them that they were about to see images and sights of delight and joy. Seated in front of a wall, the stone worked its magic, showing them images of dashing heroes and blackhearted rogues getting their comeuppance by cunning or trickery or a good fashioned punch or even a smile that unlocked the goodness in a villain's soul! For the first day, that village had enough joy to make up for the bandits that terrorized them so much.

Apologies though, it broke right after. Guardian Winter offered to fix it, but I told them that a knowing and cunning mouse would fix it and they had smiled and chuckled, saying that they know the feeling. The mouse was not amused though, she said she would take longer to fix it. There would be no moving pictures for this month and the next, past the Winter Solstice. Why was I yelling that part? Well, to make sure everyone got it, of course.

Autumn Batch Delete Results + Winter Batch Delete

The Winter Solstice period also is a time of cleaning. Of tidying the old year away to make room for the new. Guardian clasped my claw and asked if I wanted to help other villages the next day with them, with a joyous response—for would you not when faced with a legend in the flesh—I accepted their gracious offer.

The second day, we took to the skies and sorted through many villages, helping other IceWings in their efforts to clean up during the Winter Solstice. Some were even from the Community of Fire, happy to help alongside us! We discussed how the Batch Delete was going, some of them sheepishly admitting that they missed the minimum mark (2.5KB!) and asked to have their swept-away pages restored afterwards. At least just shy of a thousand pages were swept away like a hurricane against the grass. Still, the Batch Delete happens quarterly per year. The next one will happen in two months about (February 28th!) and we have instituted a new rule: pages that have already been deleted twice will not be restored, so be warned that will happen then! Tips on knowing your page sizes can be found here!

But that is the slow part of the story, all, for upon the night, as we flew, we spotted a bright, silvery village near the Claws of the Clouds Mountain. One I had not noticed in my travels, but found on that very night. When we touched down, we had found ourselves confronted with a silvery dragon of unknowing tribe at the entrance of the village. Their scales were old and faded in color and their eyes were sad and lost. They were an abandoned dragon long ago who stayed because someone had to remember the village, even after everyone else left many years ago. But they were now tired and time marched forth, regardless. They wished for us to help them clean up and sweep tidy the village.

We gave that to the poor lone dragon. We tidied the scrolls found in the village, we cleaned all the cobwebs found in the dark corners of the huts, and heard the dragon's stories as we worked on carrying out their wishes. They had spoken of climbing traditions for the hatchlings, chasing goats as a past-time for the young, and smiled with a faded twinkle at the great fires at the end of the year. The villagers would spark a fire and tossed the old and stale and decaying items into it to begin the purging of the old year to move way for the new year, for no one could preserve the past, only look ahead towards the future.

With a pile of treasured trash and jeweled junk, we sparked a fire for that last villager's wishes. We tossed the old items into the fire, watching it WHOOSM in the night air, growing bigger and brighter against the darkness. Finally, as the fire began to die down and the dawn of a new day was rising, Guardian Winter asked the last villager what their heart's desire was. With a croak in their voice, the villager simply said they wished to be remembered. With eyes that sobbed out tears now, they asked not to pass alone, just a mere memory of the past.

With a solemn nod, Guardian Winter reached into their magical sack and pulled out a scroll, full of the stories they mentioned to us. Full of chasing goats, climbing mountains, shadow dances and amusing songs of holiday accidents. And gave a gift of a promise that I also pledged to the villager. That we would never forget them. That we would make sure they would be remembered and thought of. That they would have a place in the present and future moving forward. And we gave the last villager a hug, for giving is an endless sky of a gesture. The last villager smiled through their tears and began to fade away from our grasp. They became silver wisps, rising as a spirit streak illuminating with the dawn with only a few words at the very end, 'thank you for your gift' as they parted the earth. I don't believe I have to tell you, for you saw with your own eyes that morning, the beauty of that sunrise, the coming of a new day.

Reminders of Categories and Centers

But let's move forward to the next and third day, after we rested in a forest, my head against a stump as fine as the softest feathered nest. Guardian Winter rested their head on their magical sack, against a birch tree's trunk. I had the humble honor of being offered their makeshift pillow, but I declined, preferring my company of birch stumps. I was curious though, and asked what made them so sure I wouldn't steal the sack away while they slept. Guardian Winter only gave me a wink and said that they knew when I was sleeping and when I was awake. That night, I slept pleasantly, flying a few hours of dreamskies, soaring through a sunny everwinter with the Guardian Winter by my side.

Yet, the sight we woke to was stranger and more wondrous than even that: a pair of shadow-creatures, arguing by a camp of birch trees, their white bark stark against their darker shapes, vaster than the mere eye could see! By the endless noise and bluster they made, I knew then why no one argues with their own shadows, they would tire out before them! Guardian Winter and I had shared a knowing look before bellowing in laughter, for the sight of the arguing shades brought a mirth to our throats.

Yet, we knew what had to be done, and so we cleared our throats, and waved to the shadow-creatures, greeting them in our jubilant manner as to not frighten them off to their haunts. We had asked them what they were arguing over. After a promise not to breathe fire and light upon the two, an easy one for I can barely breathe it and Guardian Winter breathes neither from their mouth, though I have not checked for certainty, the shadow-creatures had told us: dragonets, eggs, and works of art! We were confounded for a moment, before one of them explained.

They had a former adoption center where they went to for dragonets and dragons whose shadows they would slip into for comfort and home. However, it had been torn down and abandoned one day, and so, they decided to find other places that offered similar services. The wanting of eggs were not for consumption, but for taking comfort and warmth in a dragon-to-be. And the works of art... well, they simply delighted in looking at them, requesting them and wanting them as all beings did. They were looking for them in these places called pages, which we shook our heads to, for that seemed wrong. Finally, they spotted upon various blogs, as one shadow named those places, and adopted various eggs and dragons from them... by claiming and putting confusing categories for their own personal uses.

'Shadows,' I said with a calm smile that cut through their darker moods, 'may I suggest, instead looking towards these 'pages', that you look towards 'blogs' instead? These new adoption centers are meant to be in blogs, for it is their rightful place and easier to sort through and find. And I have also suggested that they would label their dragonets, dragons and eggs through a commonly used list and not make their own categories that would, in turn, give them headaches, though I am still unsure if a shadow-creature can get a headache.

The creatures rose their, what I presumed were, eyebrows. They turned their heads to each other and looked at me and Guardian Winter, admitting they had no idea of that. And that, if they had continued arguing, they would have vented their frustration and wrath onto Pyrrhia and plunged it into a thousand years of darkness. Which they still might do, given all the arguing left them displeased and disheartened, though I still ponder on shadow-creatures having hearts inside. Guardian Winter saved me the opportunity to respond to such a future by saying we hadn't done enough for them, for they didn't have their heart's desires yet, and asking the shadow-creatures what they wanted.

One of them responded with an 'an eternal home', the other with 'a center full of eggs.' Guardian Winter grinned, reached inside their magical sack, and pulled out two items. Can you guess what they were? Well. They were a stone egg and a scroll detailing a content egg center and directions to it. The shadow-creatures took wonder and amazement at the gifts given and that is the tale of how Guardian Winter and I kept Pyrrhia from a thousand years of darkness.

New Categories

The next day, especially, was a daunting tale of epic patience and awe-inspiring fortitude. After we led the shadow-creatures to the egg center—for they had no talons or claws to grip the scroll of directions—we had rested at a nearby village. The shadow-creatures had worn us out, for shadows were not the best travel partners. They do not listen to you, they copy your movements and they never fully seem by your side. Yet, the village was peaceful and, so, we doozed off soundly into the quiet night.

The fourth day came with the sound of a town gone mad. I woke from the sight of Guardian Winter shaking me in a dream of sunny beaches with golden seas to the sight of Guardian Winter rousing my shoulder from sleep. There was panic! There was yelling! Mass hysteria and chaos! It sounded like one of Queen Scarlet's banquets with likely less death! I rushed from the hut we resided in for the night and saw what the sight of the day was: three crowds of dragons, sitting calmly while the villagers were screaming their heads off like the world had gone mad!

And thus, Guardian Winter boomed a hearty 'Ho, Ho, HO' to the villagers in order to calm them down. It was a sound that rumbled like thunder. Maybe you heard it that fourth day into the week? Once we attended to the villagers, we asked them what the problem was. The first of the three groups were of worksdragons of other natures beyond the norm, teachers, traders and dragons of state affairs, though we did not hold it against them. The second were of an odder nature, more fantastical and strange in terms of attitude and appearance, fascinating dragons made from supernatural and greater means. The third were a gaggle of orphans or dragonets or dragons with the shiniest of eyes, evoking a puppy looking up at an owner.

And so, we asked why the screaming from the villagers. They simply said that they did not know what to categorize them now and that realization sent them all in a storm and fury. For what would we call them now? Addressing their concerns, I gave three categories for each of the three groups, so that the village would not go mad by the day's end. For the dragons whose occupations did not match the norm, we would categorize them Occupation (Other), for they worked in other professions. For the dragons created by fantastical means, we would categorize them Artificially Created, for most dragons would not naturally gain their appearances and abilities, though we would be wiser and kinder not to judge them for that. For the orphans, we would categorize them Adoptable, for they want to be adopted and taken under the wings of a caring parent.

Those words were like a balm against the chaos of the villagers. With calmer breaths, they gained reason back. The three crowds of dragons were let go and the village, that night, had thrown a grand feast, fit for three villages as a ways of apology. There was laughter, there was dancing and joy across the tables, slices of deer and slabs of cows served upon stone trays, juicy and raw, and the orphans were singing solstice songs and stories! Oh, what a time to be alive that night!

And Guardian Winter smiling throughout it all, handing gifts to the dragonets, both big and small. They drank the festive teas, the holidays juices and snacked on meat pies after the feast, graciously given by the village hosts. Yet, there is one dragonet I must tell of. After the feast's main merriments were done, the singers exhausted, the bards thirsty from telling stories and songs all night, the cooks weary and panting from a huge laboring at cookfires... came a little dragonet.

They were one of the orphans in the crowds before. A more grown version, nearing dragonhood. They looked scared and lost and approached Guardian Winter with a hesitance. Guardian Winter, for their part, merely had an inviting smile on their face and let the dragonet know that they wouldn't get mad if they didn't come closer. That gave a certain courage to the orphan, who inched closer. Guardian Winter asked them what their heart's desire was.

They simply said that they wished to be loved for who they were. That they were never rejected from others for that. That they wished all reflections were broken, because all they did was force them be one thing they did not want. That they weren't fundamentally unlovable, from what everyone else said. That there was something in that magical sack of Guardian Winter that could give them something for the night.

With a sober silence from Guardian Winter, they reached into their magical sack, digging long and hard, and gave the dragonet a looking glass. And told them that this was a magical glass and when they looked at it, they would see the dragonet they wanted to be, one who was loved and protected and cherished by a family and friends connected by love and care. And all dragonets deserved love and that, someday, they would find it... just like Guardian Winter did in the end. And, no matter what, they looked out for all dragonets, big and small, as they wrapped the dragonet in a tight hug, telling them they once knew what the dragonet was going through.

Mimimal Gallery Pages Requirements

There was more to that night, but those are stories for when you are all older in body, mind and heart. The fifth day came with a headache—the cause of which I cannot say without getting into trouble with your parents—and Guardian Winter handing me a draught from their magical sack to overcome my headache. It tasted like honeycombs and sugared berries. We left the village in high spirits, and decided to fly and soar higher beyond the clouds that day.

For that, we found ourselves in a town full of artists and painters, that day being one where artists showed their artistry attached to gallery signposts. We delighted our eyes in the sights of golden dyed sunrises or charcoal night skies or blue paint rivers cut through the lush green forests. Yet, there were a few barely empty signposts with either nothing or one or two sketch-pieces attached to them.

Later, we found out that some had only taken signposts because 'they could' and not out of any stronger reasons... and some had taken signposts because they wanted to attach much and more onto them... and couldn't find the time in the end. The former being a mark of disgruntlement from the town, seeing how dragonets could very well bump into a signpost put there out 'just because', seeing them before our eyes as dragonets' snouts thudded against the posts with winces and bruises and splinters in unlucky cases.

Guardian Winter had not liked seeing harm come to dragonets and, when given the answer to where the lazier artists were, they had stormed to the tavern where they were. Those artists were laughing about how their unpleasantness would inconvenience and cause the dragonets to bump their wee heads against the posts and delighted in copying the cries of a year-old dragonet getting a head-bruise.

Guardian Winter simply said if they delighted in giving a dragonet a bruise, that they'd better not pout or cry. Telling them that Guardian Winter came to give them what they deserved. With a solid punch and hook, including a casket that managed to get smashed through an artist's head, Guardian Winter had given them a sound lesson in appreciating the dragonets of their town and reminded them that they were dragons, not scoundrels or petty thugs.

Afterwards, I managed to give the head of the town my recommendations on what to do about the empty or barely-empty signposts and how to deal with them later. Make it clear that 10 images qualified one for a gallery page and take down the ones that have less than 10 images. From there, we gathered the bruised and hurt dragonets and made an adventure out of that artist's day for them. Guiding them away from the tyranny of stray signposts to be bumped into, Guardian Winter flashed those diamond whites as we strolled through the town. Our journey throughout the town led to us discovering shadow-painters, lioncats, golden strongholds where one feasted everyday and the majesty of sky castles upon the clouds through the wonders of the town's artwork. Finally, we ended the day, giving gifts to the dragonets and singing them songs, under the beauty of a pink-tinted night with a clear moon watching over us, furled with purple and blue clouds.

Upcoming Promotion News

The sixth day, however, was quieter. Upon that dawn, waking up from a dream full of talking snowdragons—I had named one Frosthead and another Reindeer, both being quite nice—Guardian Winter and I had departed the artistry town and set off for more towns together. This time, however, we came across two dragons I personally knew: Von and Destiny. They had been helpers of our Community of Fire over the past month and done admirable jobs at that. They had gaped and pointed at Guardian Winter, who merely met their surprise with a smile and introduced themself to them.

They had asked Guardian Winter, with suspicious smiles, if they were the real Guardian Winter of the Winter Solstice. Keeping that smile, Guardian Winter did say that they were indeed that guardian and what the two's heart's desires were. After the two had mentioned their heart's desires, Guardian Winter reached into their magical sack... and pulled out nothing, only saying that their heart's desires would come in the upcoming new year, after the Winter Solstice and that all they had to do was wait.

With laughter, the two parted from us amiably, thinking Guardian Winter was just a story made of air. I asked them why they didn't give something from their magical sack. And all the guardian said was that I had a plan for the two and that I wanted it to be a surprise for both them and the Community of Fire, with an enigmatic smile that knew more than it suggested.

I then teased them if they thought about getting a helper, given being Guardian Winter had worn on the older joints after all these years, expecting a laugh from them... but getting a chin stroke and a thoughtful look. Until they shook their head, stretched their limbs and spread their wings with the motions of a younger dragon. 'You know, maybe I should. Maybe another should help me in giving to the dragonets, big and small. I am old, after all,' they said with a grin and a twinkle in their eyes... but with a sincerity that made me feel they were not solely joking. Even stories must have their bitter moments, if only to make the sweetness of their endings linger.

Last Tribe Contest Results

But enough of somber thoughts and personal musings, let me bring you all to the seventh and last day. Today, in fact... when I came across what Stormbreak found: the LightWings.

It started off a cliff of the Claws of the Clouds Mountains, just before the Ice Kingdom with the morning a coral and amber sunrise. Now that the past few months' fog was lifted, I saw what was hidden away from me: a grand pearly white spectacle of a castle, certainly towering above my body upon the earth. There were ruined buildings beside the castle, full of collapsed tops and cracked walls. Given the white color, they looked like the bones of a kingdom, long gone and dead... which made me think the caretakers didn't pour enough milk onto the walls. And it lit the fire of adventure in my gullet once more.

Guardian Winter themself had never been to this strange kingdom before, but they were up for it and we trekked through towns, just to make it into the heart of this kingdom. We passed through townsdragons of a different nature, full of soft pastel colors of pinks, oranges, yellows and browns, soft like those from the Mud Kingdom. The underside of their wings were reflections, shining sunlight at eyes that saw directly into them... as one explorer and guardian realized, though the guardian pretended not to be bothered. But what pleased me about this new kingdom and its dragons... was that they were kindly and shared their tools, their burdens and their work with each other.

And they waved at us, meaning they weren't going to murder us for being different. Which is good. Remember, don't murder dragons for being different. That's what Darkstalker attempted and you know what happened to him? No one knows. The small moral of that story is that when you judge others for being different, you become undragoned.

Where was I? Ah, yes, we waved back, and eventually found our way to the heart of the kingdom, the castle. We knocked on the door of the great wonder... and when it opened, there was a small group of dragons with a most modest dragon in front of them all. Yet, there was a certain hollowness and emptiness in that modest dragon and her movements that torn at my heart to see.

We waved our talons at the modest dragon, for kneeling seemed wrong for the moment.

She didn't demand we kneel before her nor our heads to be cut off. A high note to start off.

We introduced ourselves to the modest queen, and she, with perfunctory tones and a practiced greeting, introduced herself as Queen Lalonde of the LightWings and offered us an audience with some LightWing cuisine after a long journey. The Order, as she called her fellow LightWings nearby, would escort us to an audience room. With a walk through the castle—the only problem being when a LightWing asked Guardian Winter what the thing they were holding was and Guardian Winter simply said it was their magical sack, which made the LightWings arched their brows at—we soon realized this was no castle, but more a tower that housed an organization called the Order. The castle housed the Circle, the main government of the LightWings.

Arriving at an audience room as modest as Queen Lalonde, we were given stone trays of cattle meat, sprinkled with rosemary on them, yet crunchy to the taste instead of juicy for once. An acquired taste, but it was a journey for my belly. Guardian Winter had enjoyed their meal and asked the Order escorts that came in and brought us our food what their heart's desires were. Upon getting those desires, Guardian Winter reached inside the magical sack and pulled out a ceramic bear, a glass rose, and a bouquet of fragrant herbs. The LightWings who received those gifts looked at Guardian Winter with awe and wonder before they left.

Finally, Queen Lalonde came in, and simply asked questions. Where we came from, why we came here, and what our purpose was for coming? Were we envoys or traders or simply happy-go-lucky explorers, though she didn't use that last term exactly. Perfunctory questions, performed perfectly as a function... but there was still a hollow tone to her voice. Guardian Winter shared a look with me and we wished to do the same thing for the empty queen. We had answered the questions, given more than she would've expected from anyone else, and talked with Queen Lalonde about how we didn't expect anything at all. With that, she turned to the door of the audience room, looking done with us...

And Guardian Winter asked what her heart's desire was.

The queen paused, stopping short of the door.

Guardian Winter simply gave a nod and reached inside their magical sack, pulling out a scroll and handing it over. With hesitant talons, Queen Lalonde unfurled the scroll. She read in silence, enveloping the room in a stillness. Finally, when she was done, she took a breath, with a hint of relief, and rolled the scroll back tight. I did not want it to be the end of that. She seemed so lonely and it seemed she was less hollow for a moment. I offered to sing for her or tell her stories of where I had went. With what almost looked like a smile, she said we could join her in her solar and write poetry with her, if we would like.

From day to evening, we spent it in her company. For her privacy, I cannot say what we had given her. I cannot say, even now, that we brought permanent joy to the Queen of the LightWings.

For one shining day, though, the Giftgiver and the Explorer gave her back her smile. We hope she carries that into the new year in her heart.

---

The dragonets were stunned to silence by the giftgiver's tale of the Seven Sights of Winter. There was only the crackle of logs roasting in the flames and the hushed tones of an audience that was spell-bound throughout the story's length. Even some adults held their breaths, wondering if there was more to the story. It couldn't end now, right? But all stories come to an end. The sad and sullen dragonet asked, with a tinge of fear, if the giftgiver was a liar and Guardian Winter was just a tall-tale and a fool's belief.

The giftgiver smiled. "Who is to say shadow-creatures or talking snowdragons aren't real? Who is to say Guardian Winter is false or true, if not yourself? So long as you believe in that being, there will always be someone who will give protection and love to you unconditionally. Someone with a magical sack who will watch over the dragonets, both big and small. And there is nothing foolish about that belief, however tall my tale may sound," the giftgiver finished off the last drops of tea in their cup. "Now, who wants to ride my tail?"

All the dragonets cheered, wanting to ride on the giftgiver, being given the gift of an adventure hanging on a tail. Through the cold blizzard outside, there was something warm in the Winter Oasis' hall, a beating heart of a community that would see the dawn past the Winter Solstice with a smile and faces full of merriment and mirth. Waiting for that moment...

Which is coming for you all too.

Yes, you.

You staring at this newsletter.

I thank you for reading up to this point. It spreads a joy to my heart that you gave this much.

I know this year has been rough on you. I know you might be dreading the new year. The future is scary, I understand. For some of you, the end of this year might be writing the end of a story you wanted to keep reading.

All stories end. All endings are heartless. All endings are good byes.

But new ones begin after. All beginnings brim with heart. All beginnings are hellos.

Say good bye to every terror and hurt this old year caused you.

Say hello to this new year coming, full of promise and heart.

Believe this story will be better than the last. Believe in someone who will look after you, no matter how big and small you are. Believe in a giftgiver with their magical sack who wants to give you protection and love unconditionally. Believed that you are loved, for everyone deserves to be loved.

Believe that you can resolve to better yourself and your year.

What will you resolve to better this new year?

Inked from the Desk of Vic, Head of the Community of Fire