Drubal
Image by Couleur from PixabayDrubal was a good elf, Christmas enthusiast, and talented
artist. At three hundred fourteen years old, he was still a child by elf
standards, and the older elves rolled their eyes when he was chosen for the
Frosting and Flocking Crew again.
“Drubal!”
Drubal drew his hat over his face so that only his potato nose
showed between hat and beard, but Dewer, head of the F&F Crew, had already
seen him.
“Don’t you hide from me, you giddy little puck! Santa says
you’re on the crew, so you’re on the crew, but if you pull any stunts like the
last few years—”
“I’m sorry, sir, I’ve learned my lesson,” Drubal promised.
“Then, what are the rules? There will be no…”
“Ice sculptures of cute animals.”
“Good, and no…”
“Snowbanks made to look like flower arrangements,” he said
reluctantly, scuffing one foot.
“Good, and lastly?”
“No decorative yellow borders, no matter how badly I have to
go.”
“Right. Just snowbanks, a little frost here and there, maybe
some icicles. We’re going for natural.”
The whistle blew, signaling go time. Drubal grabbed his
presents and popped into the snowgate, coming out in the Henderson’s backyard.
“Natural,” he said. “Natural.” Maybe with some artistic
flair…
Frost blew from his lips in concentric spirals. Snow flew
from his fingers with a plop, plop, plop, hinting at the shape of a snowman.
Drubal shivered, forming icicles under every tree branch.
He smiled, adding a few finishing touches, then climbed a
tree to get a different perspective. Satisfied, he popped back through to the North
Pole.
Later, midnight chimed, and the cheer went up, marshmallows
floated atop Drubal’s hot cocoa. Dewer stormed in to the celebration. “Drubal!”
“But it was natural! …ish.”
“Oh, yes. But you left their presents in a tree, you tonk!”
~~~~~~~~~~
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