A Christmas Story!

Of my finished children's stories, this is my favorite.  Through the beginning I wonder if it really came out how I wanted, but by the end I'm really proud of it.  The original idea belongs to Matty, so I wrote this story as a Christmas gift to him.  It did actually come with a red wool scarf.  My apologies for the odd formatting; I can't seem to fix it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story.

Daniel's Scarf of Royal Red Wool

“Run, run, run!” That was all Daniel could think as those horrid dogs pursued him. Why hunt foxes? And especially foxes like Daniel, a tiny ball of fluff who had never stolen anything, not so much as a single skinny chicken! He was just a bundle of cinnamon red and sugar white; he could never hurt anyone!


Yet still those dogs chased him. They snapped at his heels and tail, and barked so that his ears rang. He ran as fast as his lithe, springy legs could manage, but soon he jerked backward, feeling a sharp pain in his leg.


A dog had him! It whipped him back and forth, and he saw the world fading. Black splotches overwhelmed him -- in a moment he would be gone forever…


“Stop!” he heard a voice say. He tried to look up, but his head smacked on the earth, and the splotches swirled all around. He heard the dogs squealing, and their heavy feet pounding further and further away.


“Poor little fox!” the voice said. “You’re no more than a baby.” Daniel felt hands slipping underneath him, and whined. “Don’t be scared,” the voice said. Daniel opened his eyes to see a boy, to whom the voice belonged, gently gathering him in his arms. “Those wicked dogs can’t get you now. I’ll take you home with me.” Daniel couldn’t fight, so the boy carried him away.


“Here we are,” the boy said, after walking a long time. The fox saw that they were in a small tent, of which only half was a tent, and the other half a stony wall. He lay on a blanket on the floor, and the boy knelt over him. The boy wore tattered, mud-speckled, ugly brown clothes. But somehow he didn’t look like the friendless and penniless orphan he was. He could be a princeling, especially with the scarf fastened round his neck. The scarf was thick and long, free of the smallest fleck of dirt, and a deep, rich red: a child of ruby and garnet.


“Now let me see your leg,” the boy said. “Nasty hounds! But I’ll take care of you.” Daniel shivered with fright. Though only a kit, he very well knew to trust not any creature, whether it be dog, or cat, or bird, or bear, or human, or even fox. Every creature meant harm to every other, especially to defenseless ones! But he couldn’t escape because his leg hurt too much, and head spun as if in a whirlpool. The boy’s face turned sad when he noticed Daniel shaking, and pet him, over his pointy ears and down his furry back. This felt so nice that Daniel forgot to be afraid, and quickly fell asleep.


When he first woke he didn’t remember anything. His leg ached a bit, but not much, and he hardly perceived it with all the new sensations meeting him. He felt cloaked in warmth unlike that of any hole, and softness unequalled by the most perfect leaf pile. All this gave him an indisputable assurance of complete safety.


“Good morning!” Daniel looked up to see the boy enter the tent. “Did you sleep well?” Daniel yawned. “I’m glad. I have some breakfast for you.” Daniel tried to stand, but his sore leg wouldn’t cooperate. “You can stay there,” the boy said, placing a wooden dish of cooked eggs in front of the fox, and sitting down with another. They both ate every morsel of the humble fare, and before the boy removed his dish Daniel dozed into another irresistible slumber.


When next he woke he noticed on what he slept. The beautiful red scarf coiled beneath and around him; the most tender of all beds and quilts. Daniel’s heart overtook him, and he began to yip. The boy rushed in, and Daniel continued to cry, waving his fragile paws in the air as the boy crouched beside him.


“What’s the matter?” the boy asked. Daniel pushed himself up on his three unharmed legs and cried until, at last, the boy picked him up. Then he licked the boy’s face until it shone like a stream in the sun. The boy laughed, hugging and stroking the baby fox. “So you’re my friend now?” he asked. Daniel curled up on his lap. “I hope you’ll stay with me. I get horribly lonely.” Daniel licked his nose. “We’ll be the happiest friends in the world, little fox!”


The next day the boy took Daniel outside the tent, where there was a fire pit, a pan, two wooden dishes, one wooden spoon, a jug of water, and a small pen which housed three chickens. “I don’t have much,” the boy explained, carrying Daniel like a newborn. “But it is enough. The chickens provide eggs, usually two a day, which we can eat, and if we find other food we can sell the eggs. That’s how I got the dishes, and spoon, and pan, and water jug. I stole the chickens, which I hope you’ll forgive me for. There is a small creek about ten minutes’ walk from here, and I boil its water in the pan before drinking it. Of course we’re in a forest, so firewood is easy to find. I used forest wood to build the pen too.” He turned toward the tent. “I found this tent here. For a long time I feared that whomever made it would come back, but that hasn’t happened yet.”


In a few more days Daniel’s leg healed completely. The boy was very happy about this, but come evening he seemed upset. Daniel rubbed his ears to the boy’s leg. “I’m afraid I can’t feed you tonight,” the boy said. “The chickens didn’t lay a single egg today, and since it is winter there’s nothing growing. I’m sorry.” Daniel looked up at him, then dashed away into the forest.


“Wait!” the boy called, running after him a few paces. But Daniel sprint far too speedily, and soon vanished from sight. He stopped then, sniffing and scratching the ground. After a few minutes he discovered what he wanted, dug it up, and raced back home.


The boy sat on the ground, crying. Daniel dropped what he held in his mouth and nudged his way into the boy’s lap. The boy instantly embraced him. “Please stay!” the boy sobbed. “I’ll find some type of food, I promise!” Daniel squirmed until released, then picked up the small, red-purple roots he had brought. “Radishes!” the boy exclaimed, again tightly clasping Daniel. “You weren’t going away; you only went to get radishes!” Daniel snuggled down, and the boy never again doubted him.


The boy and Daniel enjoyed their quiet days in the cold air, and their comfortable nights nestled together beneath the rag-like blanket. Once they ventured into town, but all the people shot them cruel stares; one man dared approach and lustfully finger Daniel’s cinnamon-sugar coat. The boy angrily rebuked him, speaking so boldly that the man, who was ten times bigger than the boy, slunk away. Daniel buried his muzzle in the folds of the majestic scarf. It suited the boy precisely, as if declaring that he was not a waif, but a son of most ancient might.


Late one frigid night the boy stirred, listening to far away sounds. His heart began to race, and Daniel felt it as he lay sleeping, and woke. After a few silent minutes the boy spoke.


“They’re not coming here,” he said. “At least I hope not.” He held Daniel closer. “They’re gypsies, very brutal ones. I used to live with them. I don’t know how long; I don’t remember ever having parents, so I don’t think I’m one of them. They hated me, because I never did as they told me. Once they told me to hit a misbehaving dog, but I couldn’t do it. Poor old mutt: he took from one of their plates, but only because he was so hungry. They beat me when I wouldn’t beat it.” Daniel licked the boy’s cheek, and he smiled. “Thank you, but it wasn’t all that bad. I never made a good gypsy, though, so I ran away. I’ve been away a long time now, over two years. You’ll laugh, but I think this scarf has been a great help to me.” He unwrapped and re-wrapped one layer of the dense red wool so that it enveloped both himself and the little fox. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember, and no one could ever take it from me. If one of the gypsies snatched at it, which happened often, he would scream and pull away, as if his fingers were burnt. I’m afraid of nothing while I wear it.”


Two nights later the boy woke up again. This time he scrambled to the where the tent opened, peering out, then scrambled back. “They’ve found me,” he said.


Daniel pawed his leg, and he knelt down, embracing the tiny fox. “You can’t stay,” he began, kissing Daniel’s head. “We must say ‘goodbye’ now.” Daniel started to cry. “Don’t be sad, little friend; I’ll be just fine. You will too.” He took off his scarf, his intensely beautiful scarf of royal red wool, and secured it around Daniel’s neck. “It fits! I’m so happy; I thought it would be huge on you. You must run away.” Daniel pressed to the boy, but the boy stood, leaving him on the ground. “I’m sorry; I shall miss you more than I can say. But the gypsies will make you into a hat if I try to keep you.” Daniel still yelped to be picked up, but the boy turned away. “I love you, little fox.”


Just then the tent ripped from the stony wall, torn into nonexistence. Men of immeasurable size and number surged in, and in an instant Daniel lost sight of the boy. He tried to dive into the mob, but something told him to run, and it wasn’t fear. He seemed to feel the scarf pulling him away, demanding that he flee. He couldn’t argue with it, and darted into the icy night.


The snow on the ground loomed above his ears, but he ran on, hardly noticing it. He followed the woolen lead long and far, but at last weariness consumed him, and he fell to the ground, asleep.


The next morning broke joyless and grey. Daniel realized that the horrors of the night before had indeed occurred, and he wept harder than he ever had. He wished more than anything for the boy to come to him, and pick him up, and tell him that they should be together forever, and never separated an hour. But the boy didn’t come, because he was tied to some gypsy donkey, or imprisoned in some gypsy box, or under some hard gypsy hand.


Daniel spent half the day weeping, but then sensed a light tug around his neck. He looked up, and saw before him not a town, but a great city. What existed for a fox in the city? But the tug strengthened, so he rose, and made forward.


He walked straight, rather than skulking or ducking behind trees and bushes. He saw all manner of wild things: snakes, and hawks; even a silky-furred, soft-footed wolf. But the snakes only hissed at him, then slithered away. The hawks dipped low and screeched at him, but flew back up behind the fog to disappear. The wolf glided right in front of him, and gazed with startling blue eyes, then bowed his head, and vanished as a fantasy of the snow. Daniel knew no dread of any of these creatures. He doubted the snakes, and wondered at the hawks, and humbled before the wolf. But any terror, any thought of anxiety or trepidation, kept from his mind so wholly that he never heeded their absence. He had to rescue the boy, and somehow, by traveling this direction, he would do so.


Just as darkness shrouded the city Daniel reached its gate. Two strong guards kept it, and he positioned for a sprint. He sprung forward, and through the gate’s bars, and down the cobblestone street before anyone noticed him.


What an enormous city! Once inside his confidence waned a bit, and he remembered what a tiny and helpless animal he was. So many people walked about, even though the night bit with chill. The people jumped around, giggling and singing, skipping from one acquaintance to another. The night could only be one of jubilant occasion.


But Daniel felt none of this elation. The world hung vastly about him; he was weaker, shyer, and more diminutive than ever. Where hid the courage he needed so badly? It failed him, and he crept away into the shadows.


He wandered nervously through broad roads and thin, winding ways. He wept because of cold and lonesomeness. At last he drew himself together and collapsed in a snow-covered courtyard.


He hadn’t lain long when he jumped up, caught by the most magical scent. It wasn’t of food, such trivialities disturbed him not, but of something divine. It seemed the scent of heaven wafted down over him, faintly, like the brush of a dove’s wing, or breath of an angel. The very scent of holiness. He spun round, and at once gazed upward into the clear windows of a white, domed edifice. Inside he saw a man: a magnificent, important man. But not a man to tremble before. He wore long robes of deep red and gold, and held a cup of stunning beauty. Other people approached him, and bowed, and received from this glorious cup. Daniel, understanding naught but that he stood in the presence of intense glory, dropped to his stomach and buried his nose in the dazzling carpet of the earth. He felt his scarf glowing, warming him from his heart outwards. It was the same color, the same burning, sanctifying red of the man’s robe.


Now to save the boy. Daniel stood up on his fragile paws, and followed where the scarf led.


He approached the center of the city. All the people saw him now, but he didn’t fear them a bit. His scarf could not be hindered. He came to a great, royal palace, which shone brilliantly in the dark and sacred night. He came to the gate, walking easily through it.


Watchmen stood and observed him, but dared not approach. They even opened the palace door for the tiny, cinnamon-sugar, pointy-eared baby fox. Once inside Daniel ran as fast as his legs allowed, and in a minute he arrived in an enormous room with a white tiled floor and ruby-crested wall.


A tall, imposing man rose from a golden chair. He looked baffled, but more so than that he looked painfully sad. Tears shimmered in his potent brown eyes, which he wiped away as Daniel bowed before him.


“How came you here,” the king began, “little fox?”


“My friend, sir.” Daniel fell over with the shock he gave himself: he had just spoken!


The king started as well, then smiled. “So it’s true, then?” he said. “On Christmas Eve, all the beasts can speak.”


“Is that why, sir?” Daniel asked. “I didn’t know!”


“Yes, for tomorrow is certainly Christmas Day, and you are certainly speaking. What is your name?”


“Daniel, sir.”


“And how can I help you, Daniel?”


“My friend, he’s been kidnapped by gypsies.” Daniel began to cry. “He used to live with them, but they were cruel, so he ran away. But now they have him again!”


The king descended to his knees, also weeping. “I cannot help you, little fox! I’ve searched for gypsies these last nine years, and yet have I not found them. They move like fire, and I cannot reach them!” Daniel ran up to the king, nuzzling his powerful hand. “They took someone dear to me, too.” The king cried harder, picking up and caressing Daniel. “My son, my dearest son, taken from me when only three years old! And this night I feel it the harshest, for this night the gypsies snatched. My sister arrived for Christmas, and my little Matthew dashed from my hand to show her his new scarf. But before he reached her he was gone!” The king choked on his tears. “I pursued the villain, and all my guards and warriors and servants pursued him, but he was gone, vanished like a star in the morning!”


Daniel pawed the king’s arm. “Sir!” he said. “Sir! Is this the scarf?” The king looked up. “Is this the scarf, sir? The scarf Matthew was wearing?” The king took the rich red wool in his hands, then gasped.


“It is!” he cried. “My own son’s scarf!”


“Then your son is my friend!”


“How merciless!” he exclaimed, pressing the wool to his eyes. “So close, so close and yet out of reach! And you said his captors are hard, Daniel? I must find them!” The king stood, but quickly sat back down, hardly able to breath through his weeping. “But how? I’ve done everything I can, and each day broadly proclaim that I will pay any price for my son’s safe return, but in nine years I’ve accomplished nothing!”


“I can take you to him, sir.”


The king tightened his grasp on Daniel, looking into his eyes. “You can, little fox? You know where my Matthew is?”


“No, but I can take you there.” Daniel jumped to the ground, standing erect. “This scarf led me all the way here, to you, and now I feel it pulling me out of this palace. I know it will take me to Matthew, sir.”


The king scooped Daniel into his arms. “Then lead on, little fox!” He called his knights to arm themselves and follow him, then held Daniel up toward heaven. “God bless this little fox, and God bring my son home!”


Within minutes they rode out of the city and into the forest; the horses galloped for Matthew, and the swords glistened for Matthew, and the king prayed for Matthew. Daniel directed the king where the scarf tugged him, and it tugged more strongly the further they traveled. The time seemed short before they saw the orange light and grey smoke of campfires materialize before them.


“This is the place!” The king said, bursting with fervor. “I feel it in my deepest soul.” They came to the camp, and forth emerged the giant-like men, bearing weapons of incredible merit. The king dismounted and set Daniel on the earth. “Here we are,” he said. “Daniel, go find my son!”


Daniel blazed through the gypsy-mob like a flash of scarlet lightning, effortlessly dodging blows and jumping obstacles. His scarf pulled him forward and left and right and up and down, until he reached a windowless, cold room, where he saw the boy cowering on the floor.


Daniel thrust himself into the boy’s lap, zealously licking his face. “Little fox!” the boy cried, securing Daniel closely in his arms. “What are you doing here?” Something pounded loudly on the wall, and the boy cringed. “And what is happening out there? It sounds like war!”


“We’re rescuing you,” Daniel said.


The boy started violently. “Little fox! You’re talking!”


“It’s Christmas Eve; I guess I can talk on Christmas Eve.”


“Then I wish Christmas Eve were every day! But who is rescuing me, beside you?”


“The king.”


“The king! Why would he bother to rescue me? I’m nobody!”


“You’re his son.”


The boy was about to reply, but just then the door flew open, and in walked the king. The boy hurried to his feet, and the king came forward, shaking with joy.


“Matthew,” he said. Daniel jumped to the ground, and the boy shrunk away. “Do you know me, Matthew?” the king said, gently nearing his son with widely opened arms. The boy trembled, terrified, and whimpered quietly when first enclosed in his father’s embrace. But the king spoke softly, and held him tenderly, so that he soon relaxed, just as Daniel had relaxed when first petted in their tent. The boy began to sob, and the king picked him up, kneeling so that Daniel could climb on top of him, and left.


After they arrived at the palace the boy was fed, and washed, and held by his father for many hours. Daniel told the boy his name, and of the animals in the forest, and of the hallowed scent. At this last story the king burst out crying, and mumbled inaudibly to himself. Soon after though the time turned a half hour to midnight, and they went up to bed. Matthew had his own exquisite room which he and Daniel would inhabit a long while together, but tonight chose to sleep beside his father. Daniel of course joined them, and at a few minutes to Christmas they all snuggled down.


“I don’t want tonight to end,” Matthew said to Daniel. “You won’t be able to talk in the morning.”


“I don’t mind; you still understand me.” Daniel remembered the scarf bound about his neck. “Take your scarf back now,” he said. “You’re here to take care of me, so I don’t need it.”


“I want you to keep it,” Matthew replied. “I feel better with it on you; I don’t know why.” Daniel licked the boy’s cheek, and lay down. “I love you, little fox,” Matthew said.


“I love you too.”





Christmas morning broke just as bright and crisp and beautiful as it always should. The king had already risen when Matthew woke, so the boy and the fox trotted down the swirling, whimsical staircase together to greet the holy day. A luminous fir tree accented the red trim of the silver and white palace, and the smells which adorn every child’s dream floated to their noses on the chords of a thousand carols which the delighted servants sang. The king met them with embraces like trumpet calls and kisses like laughter; father, child, and fox more full of life than the deepest note of a cello.


“Isn’t this wonderful, little fox?” Matthew asked, spinning with Daniel like Clara with her prince. “I never knew how much I wanted a home, or a father, or a fox until God gave them to me!” He clasped Daniel in an overflow of happiness, bursting into tears. “How I love you, little fox!”


“And how I love you!”


“Daniel!”


Daniel had spoken, and on a day not Christmas Eve. He tried his voice again, and it reached the king’s and Matthew’s ears with perfect clarity.


“How can he talk, Father?” Matthew asked.


“I’m not sure, but I have an idea. Come here, Daniel.” The king removed the red scarf from the fox’s neck, then asked him to speak. Daniel spoke, but his voice sounded hoarse, and his throat became sore. The king replaced the scarf, and held his hands to it until it warmed. Then Daniel spoke with his own, pure voice.


“It’s the scarf.” the king said. “Or not the scarf only, for he can speak without it. But it makes his voice come easier.”


“Could you speak before, Daniel?” Matthew asked.


“No, never.”


“It’s another gift,” the king said. “And how many more we are yet to receive, I cannot say. Perhaps we will not even notice the others, for if we did our hearts our would overfill with the beauty of it all.”





Daniel never lost his voice. Matthew became the darling of the people, and when his turn came to rule he did so with wisdom and faith and love. He and Daniel were never happier than when with the king, and they themselves were never separated over a few minutes. Throughout their lives Christmas remained the day which brought them the most joy, and joyful tears. In their king and prince and fox the people had unquenchable devotion, and to this day, on Christmas Eve, they tell their children the story of Daniel’s scarf of royal red wool.