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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alas, until that fateful day when strange events arose around him
The uncontrolled powers he felt within
Growing stronger as his fight to hide them grew ever more dim
At last bursting forth to be revealed once again.

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For so many years it had been just him and his mother, singing lullabies to him when he was a young child always soothing him and telling him how great he would be some day, but between these beautiful peaceful moments came the bad times and all of the running away.  Each time the tiniest fragment of his gift, as his mother called it, was discovered, they would pack their things and leave that piece of life behind.  Since before he could remember they had run, at times, even being chased from village to town to hamlet.  He never dared to make friends for he knew they would soon part, and his loneliness at times overwhelmed him.  As time passed, he watched his mother grow from middle age to elderly woman, her beautiful brown hair growing ever grayer.  On his fifty third birthday they entered a small Hamlet and were met by a kindly Shopkeep who was drawn to them by his mother's slow gate, and the trinkets he heard jingle in the sack that was strapped to a pack animal that accompanied them everywhere. Sprinteren, they called him, a hreinin deer, as they were named locally.  Strong and stately, he always remained by his mother's side, watching with intelligent eyes to keep her safe, and scurry her away when time to leave came nigh.  As the gentleman approached the deer, he noticed beneath the din of its clattering satchel, the most subtle yet beautiful sound of the tinkling of a tiny bell.
     “How beautiful,” he exclaimed, reaching for the deer's collar.
The woman quickly but gently reached forth and grabbed his hand,
     “He is very protective of his bell. I wouldn't want our friendship to start
with my deer biting your finger.”
     “Oh,” he exclaimed, withdrawing his hand, “my apology Mr. Deer.”
His comment, only slightly facetious, he offered to Spinteren, which led to surprise when the deer bowed its head in what seemed acknowledgment.  The Shopkeep, Raðulfr, turned from the deer with a smile and guided them to his home, offering them drink and food, and inquiring of their name.  Offering his own in return, he asked why they traveled alone in such treacherous weather.  The lady spoke quickly before her son could offer a word.
     “We are on a pilgrimage to see the great northern lights,” she spoke “and we sell our goods as we travel.” She glanced at her son, “This is my grandson,” she hesitated but a moment, Joulupukki.  He was used to his mother's humor especially in naming him to the outsiders they met along their travels, it was a game they played, but with this surprisingly playful new one he chuckled, Raðulfr glancing at him, as he turned to hide his face.  This was the first time his mother referred to him as her grandson.  His youthful appearance belied the fact of her maternity toward him.  With reluctance he accepted this new facet of their relationship for at fifty three he still retained the youth of twenty with his reddish hair and deep, brilliant cerulean eyes, one of his ‘gifts’.
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