The Gift of Giving

by Comma Typer


It's Very Cold

Yitterby had better days.
Snow continually blasting on his face, the wind lifting the bangs from his eyes, making his thick and heavy saddle flap in the howling gust. Bitter cold wasn’t creeping up on him: it was attacking him, mercilessly beating the yak down with its icy wickedness numbing his hooves, and that’s despite layers upon layers of hair and fur supposed to shield him from such harsh conditions.
What lay before him, nothing but fog covering almost everything in sight. All he could discern was the next few meters of nothing but snow, snow, snow. A bit of ice here and there, then more snow to trudge through, for his overworked hooves to trudge through against frosty agony.
He never had storms like this before; that much was true. As a gust almost struck his saddle away, Yitterby yearned for home. Back there in Yakyakistan, the chill was manageable, his hair would keep him warm, and there were other yaks to talk to.
It was getting boring having nothing but the snow to smash, anyway. Not even the strength to smash things, too, was in his grasp this wintry day.
How many steps did he take now? He wasn’t sure himself. All the snow, all the ground looked the same, and nothing else was in sight nor in sound—the crunch of snow under his hooves punctuating the wind’s thundering shrieks, continually crashing on his bleak face.
One more step, one more step, one more excruciating step that made his hooves meet the snow, stepping on it and getting more numb by it. He’d gotten tired of yelping out his Ow!’s; he’d had enough pain to get used to it. Still, this step exhausted the yak out of what might’ve been his last bit of energ—
Fell to the ground with a thud!
All his body everywhere: freezing, bitingly cold and frigid by the temperature, by the wind, by the snowy ground where his face was planted on, letting him suffer a jolt of stinging freeze.
Thus, the yak shivered.
He’d never shivered in the cold before.
His warm hat had failed him. His warm horn muffs had failed him. His thick saddle had failed him.
In his bag, he could feel nothing but the tiny crumbs of long-forgotten bread and the sharp remnants of cracked coffee beans. Not a gram nor an ounce to bring him up.
Felt that stinging freeze creeping up on him as he lay there, finding no semblance of rest as the gust only grew, the howling growing into a harrowing scream of the air as snow piled up on his face, piled up on his whole being as that same freeze threatened to overcome him.
His vision blurring, his sight darkening as the cold—
Saw something different in that unclear distance. Something approaching amid the raging storm of arctic death.
A shadow?
His vigor dying, he saw the shadow approach in the gray, unstable dimness.
Thoughts swirled in his diminishing head. A passerby was most likely, perhaps coming from the other way. Or a robber. He thought it good that he had nothing left to lose, nothing left to steal, but then what? There was nothing here but the barren wasteland of snow and ice. Closest settlement he knew was a hundred miles out, and they wouldn’t be fellow yaks. Who would they be?
That escaped him as he suffered brain freeze: even his mouth was becoming caked in the thriving snow; his tongue and teeth made his nerves strike back in misery.
As his eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open and focused despite the frigid pain from without and the rising exhaustion from within, that shadow had become something more tangible, something more discernible to his poor eyes.
In the midst of the snowstorm, a creature, its figure clearing up—and, beyond the fog, he could see colors other than white and gray: the faint green of faraway trees, the brown of a snow-laden lodge....
A lodge? A place to truly rest, to slee—
His eyes shut.
The surrounding snow, the flourishing snow, the snow that was going to bury him before he wakes up. Attended to by the violent brisk gale, giving in to the winter’s demands, Yitterby breathed in one more breath.
He passed out.
But not before he could hear the creature gasp. “What? What happened to you?”


Nothing seen. Only darkness.
But, he felt something, something soft on his back. Sensed his whole body lying down on that soft thing, lying face-up.
Noticed he wasn’t freezing in the cold anymore. Still cold, but not the type of cold that’d endangered him.
He wiggled his hooves. Could feel them, all four of them, without the numbness he’d grown accustomed to during the journey’s last leg.
Caught the smell of mint. That fresh scent stimulated his nose, quickened his eyes to flash open.
Groggy at first, rubbing his blurry eyes. Then, he opened them once more, blinking them twice as he took in his new set of surroundings.
He was inside a bedroom—his back on the bed’s mattress could tell him that. Countless pine trees stood at the far wall, all spruced and tidied up in shiny glitter and streamers. The walls themselves were decorated with strings of bells, stockings, candy canes, and the odd mistletoe, adding in some herby undertones to the atmosphere. Weird colorful boxes wrapped up on the floor, some in neat stacks and bunches, others littered and strewn about from one corner to the other.
Then, his eyes rested upon the door.
By that door stood a creature.
She was watching over him bedside.
Yitterby blinked again, not recognizing her species. With a tired groan and a deep yet weakened voice: “Ugh. Who is strange creature?”
That strange creature blinked back, her smile swelling as she raised her antler-studded head, mane bobbing along. “Ah! Sorry about that! I think it’s very rude of me to introduce myself like this.”
The yak rubbed his slightly aching head, still not recognizing and wondering if this was a very polite monster talking to him. She did look a lot like a deer, though, and he believed deer weren’t monsters.
Yitterby then asked, “What is strange creature’s name?”
The deer-like creature made an O out of her mouth out of a bit of surprise. “Me? Well,” putting a hoof to her apron, letting her pink face shine naturally, “my name’s Bori, and I’m actually a reindeer.” Then, her smile fading, she continued in that chipper voice, “How are you feeling? Are you OK? You feeling sick or ill?”
Yitterby looked up at the ceiling, wondering if he was OK and not sick nor ill. Feeling fine save for the little strain tugging at his head, he nodded, smiling shyly. “Yes. Yitterby OK.”
“So, your name’s Yitterby?” Bori said, leaning in some of the way. “What a wonderful name you got there!”
Still, the yak wasn’t all that happy. Being in a stranger’s house with no explanation had done that to him when he realized it. Grunting, he also realized he hadn’t regained the energy to get up from bed. Sighing in this minuscule defeat, he turned to Bori. “Where is yak?”
Bori put on a toothy grin. Gesturing a hoof towards the whole room: “You’re in the Grove.”
Yitterby lowered his brows, despite the bangs making that hard to see for her. “Yak never heard of Grove reindeer speak of.”
This kind host then twirled her hoof around, preparing herself for an answer. “You see, Yitterby, the Grove isn’t exactly on anyone’s map. It’s way out in the Frozen North, which is practically the middle of nowhere since it’s so big,” stretching her forelegs wide, her earring bells jingling a tiny bit.
Bori then furrowed her brows. “By the way… where were you headed again? I didn’t catch that.”
The yak gulped before effecting a somber frown, putting a hoof on his lips. “Destination yak secret.”
She furrowed her brows more, looking like an inquisitive detective while brandishing a smug smile. “Are you on a mission from your leader, by chance?”
Yitterby shook his very hairy head, wearing a neutral face while taking care that his big horns didn’t scratch the bed’s headrest. “Yak neither confirm nor deny.”
Bori took a candy cane and licked it, hoping that would endear herself to him a teeny-tiny bit. “That’s OK. We respect your privacy.”
Yak raised a brow, though the bangs still concealed that from view. “Who we?”
Bori snickered, scratching her head in anxiety. “Did I forget to mention the other two reindeer here?” She grinned once again, though this beam of joy was touched with some embarrassment. “They’re Aurora and Alice—quite a treat if you see them. They’re currently wrapping up presents to give for Hearth’s Warming, and—”
Wait!
And the whole room trembled with the yak’s voice. All the bells jingled and jangled, playing a dissonant cacophony of high-pitched rings as the trees shook at their non-existent roots. The shuddering lanterns cast moving lights upon the whole room, giving it an uneasy feel and making Bori tremble a bit in her hooves herself.
Placed a hoof to her chest as her heart quickened its thump, eyes dilated at the sudden shout and its resulting roomquake.
Then, it was over.
All was still as everything stopped shaking, as everything bent and went back to their proper places, back to staying still.
Before anything else, Bori opened the door, poked her head down the hallway, and yelled, “Don’t worry, the two of you! Our guest’s just a little, um… surprised.”
She then closed the door as quietly and as gently as possible so she wouldn't disturb the yak.
Speaking of yaks: Bori glanced at Yitterby who was still lying on the bed. His face gave off an air of unrepentant smirking, but she could tell the yak had some remorse in there. Somewhere.
“... was I going too fast?” Bori asked softly, gazing upon at the slightly ruined decorative strings on the wall. She decided that taking the apologizing route would break the ice between her and this probably highly-strung yak. “I’ll speak slower this time if that’s the case.”
Yitterby shook his head, rubbing his forehooves together to warm himself. “Reindeer speak OK. Yak shocked at… presents.”
“Well, that’s our thing.” She tapped her antlers for emphasis, letting it glow pink as she floated a candy cane by her side. Spreading a forehoof around to gesture towards the room once again, “In this lodge, we’re making presents and gifts to send to as many creatures as we can... which won’t be a lot this year, considering this is our first time doing this. But, we’d like to spread some cheer ‘cause why not?”
She ended it with a joyful tilt of her head, her earring bells jingling again and lighting up the place with their cheerful ringing.
Thus, the yak became gripped by fear. A trembling fear. That happy smile on the reindeer’s face only conjured up images of that fateful day in his mind: when he was given the weighty responsibility of Yakyakistan’s Quester, given by none other than the prince himself—all eyes watching him, all hooves stomping to shower applause upon the lucky yak designated to serve his kingdom in such a special and unique way.
Gritted his teeth, eyes darting wildly at the whole room again. There, under the trees, were the presents he’d noticed before—the gifts. The gifts became, in his mind’s eye, great foreboding and ominous signs: pointing, painted in goofy colors and neatly tied with dainty ribbons, to none other than Bori.
Clutched in this seeping dread, he mustered the courage to clear the bangs off of his face, letting this strange Bori see his brown eyes shivering in terror at the reindeer.
Slowly raised a trembling hoof, pointing at her with it.
All he could manage at that moment for her, in a fluttering voice: “R-Reindeer… th-the chosen one?”
Bori raised her head backwards. She bit her lip at the question. “Wh-What do you mean b-by that?”
The yak slowly got up, lifting his face and keeping his bangs brushed to the side as his eyes widened, comprehending the reindeer standing before him. “Prince Roent right all along!”
Tilting her head in confusion, Bori uttered, “Um… sorry, but what was your prince right about? I really don’t get this ‘chosen one’ stuff, and I don’t know how I, uh, play into all this."
Yitterby gasped as if he’d been slapped on the face by the prince himself. “Reindeer not understand how important she is to yak!”
Then, he hopped out of bed, landing on the timber floor with a crash and a stumbling sprawl onto the carpet. Bori took a step back at this sudden touch down, and then was taken aback when the yak knelt down before her.
The yak got onto his knees and looked fixedly at the reindeer as if he were begging for mercy from the judge.
“Yitterby sent to do prince’s very important orders,” the yak began in his rough accent. “Had great ritual and ceremony and parade to send yak off. But, only yak and prince know real truth behind mission.”
Bori lowered her head more, lending her ears some more to listen to the yak’s story. Still, the mention of princes and rituals and ceremonies and parades had thrown her off. How was she that important to them? The yaks had probably never heard of her. She bet that a few hadn’t even heard of reindeer before.
He cleared his throat and coughed. “Yitterby know yaks best at everything… smashing, planting, eating—instrumentality, too! That is, until prince told yak: yaks not best at everything!”
The reindeer did her best to hide an eye-roll. She kept up the smile, though; she didn’t want to upset this yak anymore than the prince had likely done.
“Prince said yaks not best at giving gifts. Strange to yak ears!” and Yitterby demonstrated that by turning his ears up. “But, it’s true. Prince told me that snow piles and smashing sticks not best gifts. Prince know,” so, stretching his hoof out: “prince went far and wide, saw ponies give gifts and astounded by pony gifts. So different! So one-of-a-kind! Prince humbled by those gifts but kept it secret; did not want cause chaos and anarchy in dear Yakyakistan.”
The yak sighed, letting out a hint of frustration there. He didn’t notice that Bori had sat down, now more on his kneeling level.
“Yitterby chosen, though yak not know why this yak and not any other yak. Maybe Yitterby like traveling a lot. Maybe true: yak like hikes. But, Yitterby chosen anyway by prince to look for way to give gifts best, but other yaks not know that.”
The burly creature then tapped his forehooves on the floor. “So, Yitterby there, traveling around, going up and up, north and north, until bad weather and no food hurt yak and cannot take more traveling and walking. Yak thought yak failed mission and sorely disappoint prince and all yaks back in Yakyakistan. Yak lost consciousness and faint.” Then, he pointed up at the reindeer, noticing now that she’d been sitting down for some time already. “Reindeer know rest of story. Yak thank reindeer for saving yak’s life.”
After the story and the gratitude was all told, Bori did not know what to say to him. She wasn’t sure how to respond to a yak who’d went this far to look for a method on better gift giving.
So, Bori breathed out a sigh of relief. “If that’s how it is... then you better come down with me,” opening the door with her hoof with her smile only getting bigger yet still genuine. “It’s best you meet Aurora and Alice as well, so you can get the full experience, you know! I’m sure they’d be happy to help you just as I am.”
Yitterby’s eyes lightened up. Inside, he still trembled, dumbfounded that here, in this lodge, was what he’d been searching for all this time—that his journey was finally over. All the time spent in the unforgiving outside, all the suffering under increasingly frigid snowstorms, all the sorrowful and lonesome isolation with just himself and his bag—all of that led up to this, to this lodge and these reindeer.
So, without a word, he stood up and followed Bori out of the bedroom and down the stairs.


The moment Yitterby could see the living room, he was astonished by what he saw.
Heaps of piles of gifts were everywhere, creating stacks and mountains of gifts on the floor and tinier hills on the shelves. Some were in boxes along with other sorts of containers, painted with the holiday colors of red and green. Others had settled for a simple ribbon and knot: over there, a big rock had a ribbon around it, supposedly a gift to someone special.
Pine trees, too, proliferated here, as decorated if not more so as the trees he’d seen in the bedroom, glittering with their sparkly decorations alongside wreaths hanging on the walls.
Above all these gifts and trees and wreaths shone even more lanterns, many colored in green and red, too, along with the standard yellow that illuminated the house. However, he noticed that there was no sunlight coming in. The rattling windows told of the fiercesome weather outside, and that it might as well be twilight with the huge lack of visibility there.
He picked up on the furnace’s cackling by the side, where its fire danced on the burning logs, wafting the scent of warmth to his nose… and, already, he could feel even warmer, which was a joyful comfort after the nasty afternoon he’d had in the snow. A chimney pipe protruded out of the furnace, stretching past the ceiling and certainly to the turbulent elements out the confines of this safe spot.
By the furnace was another reindeer, though this one seemed younger and smaller. Her antlers, too, were smaller since they were like mere wishbones compared to Bori’s.
“Alice?” Bori called out as she made the last step down the stairs, the yak following close behind her. Gesturing to the yak who’d just stepped onto the ground floor, “I want you to meet—”
“‘—Yitterby, the yak we saved from the snowstorm’, right?” Alice said in a cocky voice, tying up a ribbon on a bottle of dragon’s toenail.
“Took the words out of my mouth,” Bori said. Then, in deadpan, her eyes half-closed in irritation: “Again.”
The gift put down, Alice then trotted up to the yak visitor, holding out a hoof and offering a hoofshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Yitterby!”
Yitterby smiled. “Yes, pleasure—”
“‘—to meet small reindeer as well!’” Alice said, attempting to mimic the yak’s voice. Then, smirking at the astounded yak, “And… hey! I’m not small!”
Bori blocked Alice with an extended hoof, barring Alice from further pestering the poor yak. “Please forgive her, uh, chutzpah,” Bori said, taking a step between her fellow reindeer and Yitterby. Now her turn to clear her throat, she then said, “This may be a lot to take in, but Alice here can... see into the future. She hasn’t quite gotten tired of using it too much yet.”
Yitterby blinked, then shook his head to shake out the confusion that’d built up there. He’d had faced strange magic before, but he’d never encountered the magic that saw into future, even if it was just the next ten seconds this time.
Alice blushed. “Heh-heh! Sorry about that.” Then, sitting down on the floor and grabbing the next item to ribbon, “At least you’re not that scared. I know that!”
“How does small reindeer know yak not too scared?” Yitterby inquired, pointing an accusing hoof at his guesser.
Alice shrugged her shoulders then flashed a sly smirk at him. “There you go! I knew you were gonna say that,” pointing a hoof back at him and narrowing her eyes down just to rub it in his face.
Yitterby’s mouth was open agape. He caught himself doing that, though, and promptly closed it. Turning his face to the side, he declared, “Not that special. Yak know small reindeer use deduction skills.”
“Let’s move on, shall we?” Bori said, her grin clearly a nervous front as she trotted past him, signaling to him that he should really move on immediately.
So, leaving Alice be (though she waved them off), they strode across to the other side of the living room. Here, Yitterby had to be careful not to step on any of the gifts of which there were plenty either scattered or organized on the carpets and rugs.
He wasn’t paying attention to Bori talking about how Alice usually chooses what gifts belong to who. Instead, he looked around, espying a bottle of perfume, a pony doll, a bunch of books, and a fancy inkwell—all to be turned into gifts if the nearby scissors, ribbons, and jars of both oil and water paint were of any indication.
There, at the other side of the room, swaying on the rocking chair, was yet another reindeer. She was rather elderly, sporting a pair of glasses and a rugged scarf around her neck.
She was also knitting holiday sweaters, letting her magic levitate the needle and the work-in-progress piece of clothing as she did her work, antlers glowing blue and all.
This aged reindeer then looked away from the sweater to greet the yak with a welcoming smile.
Floating the sweater down on the table along with the needle, she said, “Ah, it’s you! Good to see you in tip-top shape after that vile trip you’ve had!”
Yitterby must’ve guessed that she was older than him, so, out of respect, he nodded. “Yes. Yak in tip-top shape. Trip very vile, but yak survived, as old reindeer can see!”
“Mm-hmm!”, nodding her head back at him. “Must’ve been hard to eat coffee beans every half a day or so… that caffeine isn’t always good for you, and you know it!”
Yitterby took a step back, recalling both the alluring scent of coffee and that he’d, indeed, ate coffee beans raw.
“What?” the yak yelled. “How do old reindeer know yak’s eating habits?”
Bori giggled beside him, placing a hoof on his side. “That’s Aurora. She… well, makes sweaters and helps brew some tea once in a while, and she has lots of wisdom, too. But,” and raised a hoof, winking at the intrigued yak, “she’s pretty much the opposite of Alice because, ahem, she can see into the past!”
“Like history tomes?” Yitterby asked.
“Don’t have to read ‘em!” Aurora blathered, getting out of her chair and walking up to the big yak on her thin legs.
Bori chuckled, nudging the yak with her hoof and then with a tap of her antlers. “Yeah. She just knows lots of things that happened in the past... including your past.”
Yitterby’s eyes widened behind his bangs. “That… is scary. Yak not want to hear old reindeer say yak biography.”
“Wait!” Alice yelled from beside the furnace, holding up both of her forehooves and almost knocking over a glass of eggnog. “On the count to three, everybody!”
“Alice,” said Bori in a chiding tone, rubbing her foreleg in impatience, “please don’t show off—”
“One… two… three!”
A huge grumble came from Yitterby’s stomach.
All eyes were on him and his poor, famished stomach.
Yitterby lowered his head in shame, unwilling to say anything that would only make his hunger all the more obvious.
“... OK,” Bori said, putting a hoof to her chin. Facing the yak with a renewed vigor in her eyes, “You must be hungry! I could help you to some of our dinner… on the house! We were going to eat in a few minutes, anyway.”
Yitterby then kept glancing at Alice and then at Aurora, those two foreboding figures who, if Bori was telling the whole truth, had the power to know just about anything in his past and his future. Then, his mind came across Bori herself? Did she see into the present or—
“Come upstairs,” Bori said, interrupting Yitterby’s train of thought as she trotted her way up those stairs. “The dining room’s this way!”
And so, Yitterby went, careful once again to not step on any gifts and following Bori as she walked up, Aurora and Alice following him to the second floor for a hearty meal.