12/25/2025
Once upon a time, My Best Beloved, when the snow lay deep and quiet upon the ground, the creatures of The Glen gathered to celebrate Christmas Eve. Now, the creatures of The Glen are not ordinary creatures, oh no. They are small creatures and clever creatures, and some of them are soft, and some are swift, and some are wise in ways you or I could scarcely imagine.
In The Glen, where the old stone circle stands tall and timeless, a single candle flickered, casting its brave little light across the snow. This was no ordinary candle. It was the Light of The Glen, lit every Christmas Eve by Rabbit, the solemn and steadfast Guardian of The Glen, who watched over its creatures through storm and snow, through winter’s chill and spring’s awakening.
Now, Rabbit was not a plain rabbit, not at all. He was a Rabbit of The Glen, with fur as soft as moss and ears that seemed to catch every whisper of the woods. He wore a long, warm cloak of woven rushes, fastened at the neck with a tiny silver pin shaped like a star. Rabbit had placed the candle at the centre of the circle himself, for it was his duty to ensure its light burned brightly, guiding The Glen’s creatures through the longest night.
“Come close, my friends,” Rabbit called, his deep, gentle voice carrying through the frosty air. “The candle is lit, and the night is cold, but there is warmth for all who gather here.”
The first to arrive was Mouse, and you must know, Mouse was the kindest and cleverest of all the creatures. She was a tiny thing with fur the colour of warm toast and whiskers that twitched when she was thinking (which was most of the time). She wore a green velvet dress, and over her arm, she carried a basket filled with oatcakes and tiny mince pies she had baked herself.
“Merry Christmas, Rabbit,” Mouse said as she placed her basket by the candle. “It’s a fine night for a gathering. Have the others arrived yet?”
“Not yet,” Rabbit replied, adjusting his cloak. “But they will come. The Glen is never empty on Christmas Eve.”
And indeed, they came.
The shrew was next, a creature so small she might have been mistaken for a shadow darting through the snow. She carried a pouch of dried berries, each one polished to a gleam, and scattered them near the candle for all to share. “A merry night to you both!” she squeaked, her voice as light as a snowflake.
Then came the hedgehogs, rolling along like little spiky snowballs. They shook off their frost with great gusto and placed a plate of seed cakes beside Mouse’s mince pies. “We’ve brought something sweet to share!” they called, their voices bright and cheerful.
High in the trees, the owls perched, their feathers as pale as the moon. “Hoo-hoo,” they called softly, their golden eyes glinting. “We’ve no cakes to bring, but we can sing a carol or two.”
Rabbit smiled and nodded. “Come down and warm your talons,” he said. “There’s room enough for all.”
At last came Raven, who was always the last to arrive. Raven was not an ordinary bird. He was grand and glossy, with feathers blacker than the midnight sky and eyes that glimmered like polished jet. He carried no feast, for Raven’s gift was his voice, deep and rich as the echo of wind through the trees.
“Merry Christmas,” said Raven, bowing low.
Then there came a soft sound, like the rustle of leaves or the sigh of the wind. From the shadows stepped Magic. She was wrapped in a shimmering cloak of starlight, and her holly crown sparkled with frost.
“Best Beloveds,” she said, her voice like the quiet snowfall. “The light of this candle is small, but its flame is strong. Let it remind you that even the smallest light can guide you through the darkest nights. May the warmth of your gathering carry you through the cold of winter, and may you always find a place to share your joy.”
She stepped forward and cupped her hands around the candle’s flame, and though the light did not waver, it seemed to grow warmer and brighter, filling The Glen with its glow. Then, as softly as she had come, she disappeared into the misty woods.
The creatures sat in silence, their hearts filled with wonder, until Mouse stood and raised her tiny mug of tea. “To the light!” she cried.
“To the light!” the others echoed, their voices bright and merry.
When dawn finally crept over the hills, it found The Glen still glowing — not just with the light of the candle, but with the warmth of hearts that had shared stories, laughter, and the joy of Christmas Eve.
And so, My Best Beloved, you see how the creatures of The Glen keep Christmas, just so.
And as the candle’s golden glow warmed the hearts of all in The Glen, the creatures shared one last round of tea and laughter before making their way home, carrying the light of Christmas in their hearts.
May this story bring you the same warmth and joy. Wherever you may be, may your days be filled with kindness, your nights with light, and your heart with the magic of Christmas.
From the creatures of The Glen — and from me to you — a very Happy Christmas.
With warmth and wonder,
Victoria Beata
Author & Illustrator of Tales of The Glen
