he goblin suggested, its voice softer than the forest had ever heard. “It’s not far from here.”

The goblin’s den, usually filled with the sounds of clinking trinkets and the goblin’s grumbles, fell silent as the creature contemplated the slippers. They were indeed too large, even for its wide, flat feet. The goblin looked up at the deer, its eyes reflecting the glow of the slippers.

“Why don’t you give them to the old lady at the North Pole?” the goblin suggested, its voice softer than the forest had ever heard. “It’s not far from here.”

The deer nodded, its antlers catching the light of the stars that peeked through the canopy. “She is the keeper of winter’s magic, the mother of the auroras, and the guardian of the Christmas spirit,” the deer said. “These slippers would befit her well.”

With a sense of purpose, the forest animals embarked on their journey northward the went back to goblin he said the old lady in his den uninvited