Holiday Mischief with the Reindeer Rider

The Ribbon That Needed Permission

In Snowdrop Forest, the first snow always arrived just before the Festival of Antlers. Lanterns went up along the clearing, stalls appeared between the spruce trees, and the air filled with cinnamon, pine resin, and the hopeful smell of something being toasted too close to a fire.

Burlap Tinseltoes loved the festival with the intensity of a gnome who believed every gathering improved when it included his name. He had a red wool cap, a red sweater, and a plan to make this year’s parade so dazzling that the judges would remember it well into spring. His friend Jinglehoof, a chestnut reindeer with a pale blaze and branching antlers, had agreed to carry Burlap in the procession. Jinglehoof liked the music and the lanterns. He liked Burlap, too, especially when Burlap remembered that “agreed to a ride” did not mean “agreed to every idea that followed.”

“A little sparkle,” Burlap promised, holding up a garland. “A tasteful amount. The sort of tasteful that can be seen from the next village.”

Jinglehoof inspected the garland, then chose a single strand of green pine with a red ribbon. Burlap took that as the whole design. Then he reached into his sled and produced gold ornaments, tiny lights, and a bell large enough to have its own opinions.

Jinglehoof’s ears turned sideways.

“The bell is mostly decorative,” Burlap said. “It only rings when it moves.”

Jinglehoof tapped his left forehoof twice against the snow. It was a signal the two friends had settled on for moments when Jinglehoof wanted Burlap to pause and look again. It belonged to them, not to the festival, and it had worked well whenever Burlap remembered to honor it.

He did not remember this time. He was busy picturing the crowd’s astonishment. He threaded the lights through Jinglehoof’s antlers, hung baubles from the branches, and tied the bell beneath the harness. The glow powder came last, dusted over the garland until it shimmered blue, gold, and coral in the dusk.

When Burlap stepped back, even he had to admit the result was spectacular. Jinglehoof stood still, but his expression had gone from patient to pointed. Burlap laughed at his own masterpiece, then noticed the two hoofprints pressed beside the bell.

“You don’t like it,” he said.

Jinglehoof nudged the bell with his nose. It gave a bright, sharp jingle.

Burlap looked at the crowded antlers and the tight little knots. “I should have asked before I put all this on you.”

Jinglehoof lowered his head. The lights still glowed beautifully. The bell still looked like a terrible idea.

The Brightest Bell in the Clearing

The Festival of Antlers began beneath the lanterns, where the snow had been tamped into a broad, safe path around the clearing. Reindeer and their companions entered at the pace each team chose. Elder Hollyhorn, the head judge, reminded the crowd that the display belonged to its participant. Burlap heard the words. He was still thinking about how bright Jinglehoof would look.

Jinglehoof stepped into the procession at an easy walk. Burlap sat low in the small saddle and kept the reins loose, as they had agreed. The glow powder caught the lantern light, scattering little stars over the snow. A few people gasped. Someone clapped. Burlap’s grin grew until it seemed likely to need its own lantern.

At the edge of the path, a squirrel had been watching a basket of hazelnuts left beside a stall. The ornaments reflected in its eyes as it stretched for one nut. Its paw caught the dangling bell instead. The bell rang once—loud enough to bounce between the trees.

Jinglehoof startled and stepped sharply away. The squirrel scrambled up a post. Two other reindeer shied back, and a row of ornaments clattered onto the snow. The marshals opened the side lane and guided the crowd out of the path. There was a burst of confusion, a tangle of ribbons, and one very offended pie that landed frosting-first in the snow. No one was hurt, but the parade stopped.

Jinglehoof tapped his hoof twice.

This time Burlap heard him. He slid down, unfastened the bell, and let Jinglehoof walk out of the lantern glow toward the quiet edge of the clearing. He did not call him back for a victory lap. He did not tell him the crowd was waiting. He followed at a respectful distance, carrying the bell in both hands like a small, embarrassing moon.

Elder Hollyhorn met Burlap near the path. “You may help us gather the decorations,” she said. Her voice was stern, but not cruel. “After that, you may ask Jinglehoof whether he wants to return.”

“And if he says no?” Burlap asked.

“Then the answer is no.”

That was simple enough to understand. It was also, Burlap realized, what he should have understood before the festival began.

He helped the marshals collect the fallen ribbons and lantern hooks. The squirrel came down when someone offered it a hazelnut away from the path. Burlap checked that the little creature was all right, then apologized to the stall keeper for the scattered basket. His glittering display had lasted less than a minute. The cleanup took considerably longer.

A Festival with Room to Choose

Jinglehoof waited beside a stand of spruce trees where the music softened to a distant fiddle. Burlap stopped several paces away. He held the bell down by his knee and kept his hands still.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You agreed to carry me in the parade. I treated that like permission to decorate you however I wanted. I should have asked about every piece, and I should have listened when you showed me the bell was too much.”

Jinglehoof watched him for a long moment. Then he nosed the bell. Burlap set it on the snow between them.

“Do you want me to take the rest off?” Burlap asked.

Jinglehoof turned his head toward the garland, then lowered it beneath the light strands. Burlap waited. When Jinglehoof remained still, Burlap began untying the knots. He worked slowly, stopping whenever Jinglehoof shifted. The lights came away first, then the ornaments. Jinglehoof kept the green pine garland and the red ribbon he had chosen himself.

“That looks much better,” Burlap said.

Jinglehoof gave him a look that said it had looked better before the decorating, too.

They returned to the clearing only after Jinglehoof chose to walk back beside him. The parade had ended, but the cleanup had not. Burlap swept the glow powder from the path, gathered the rest of the ornaments, and helped the stall keeper rebuild the hazelnut basket. Elder Hollyhorn added one new line to next year’s entry card: What has the participant chosen to wear? It was a small change for that festival, and a useful one.

A year later, Burlap arrived with no bell. He brought a short garland, a handful of soft lights, and an empty place beside Jinglehoof for whatever the reindeer wanted to add—or nothing at all. Jinglehoof chose one red ribbon and a strand of pine. He also chose to walk in the parade, with Burlap beside him instead of perched on his back.

The lights shimmered. The bells stayed in Burlap’s bag. Nobody needed to be dazzling from the next village. The judges gave Jinglehoof a ribbon for the calmest glow in the clearing, which Burlap declared “a suspiciously accurate award.” Jinglehoof bumped his shoulder, and Burlap bowed to the crowd with all the dignity available to a gnome wearing a hat almost as tall as he was.

After the last lantern was extinguished, Burlap held up the old bell. “Same time next year?”

Jinglehoof touched the green garland, then looked at the bell.

“Right,” Burlap said. “I’ll ask first.”

Jinglehoof leaned his warm nose against Burlap’s shoulder. It was not a yes to every future idea. It was a good beginning, and Burlap finally knew the difference.