Harvest was done, and Thoughtful had gone home. The dream kept fading. Seeker was glad for the work of chopping wood at the edge of Danger—the solid thud of each tree hitting the ground was satisfying. Maybe one of them would be used to build the home for Beautiful.
His heart echoed the wolves’ howls from deep within the forest. The old fear was gone. Would they see him as a brother now?
Christmas Eve came, and he went to bed early. Beautiful was there waiting—glimmering under the stars. She bounded toward him, reaching for his hand, but it passed through him like mist.
She giggled. “You’re like the waterfall now,” she said, twirling the way they once had in the ravine, her hair and dress flowing around her.
Then she leaned close, a tear glinting on her cheek. “Oh, Seeker,” she sighed. “It’s dreadful. How will I last another year without your kiss?”
“Be strong, little baby,” Seeker said. “It’s only a year… and a few months.” He reached for her hand out of habit.
They walked side by side and sat on the beach. The boats lay still in the harbor. All was quiet. All was calm.
“’I’ said the donkey,” sang Beautiful, “I carried His mother uphill and down.” Her tears caught the starlight as they fell.
The Bethlehem star appeared, shining above the harbor.
“You’re so Beautiful.”
“I know I am,” she said, turning her head with a soft giggle.
“’I,’ said the dove from the rafters high,” she sang on, “cooed Him to sleep that He should not cry.” Her voice was soft and sweet. “We cooed Him to sleep, my love and I.”
“I love you, Beautiful,” Seeker whispered.
“Me too,” she replied. “Merry Christmas, baby. I love you, Seeker.”
