Tis the eve before the sabbat, and all through the house, all the creatures are stirring with excitement as a log from the best tree in the forest is brought in and prayed over. Carefully placed upon the hearth and lit, the children are made to guard the flames until the last bit of wood burns to ash, an exceptionally important task. The flames must not go out prematurely, or else. But late in the night, once the light of the moon disappears into the darkness of thick cloud cover and darkness pours in through the windows, the children fall fast asleep before the warmth of the fireplace. And then, the light in the fireplace quietly extinguishes. A rush of wind and unearthly cold descends from the chimney and rouses the slumbering babes. The littlest one wakes first, rubs his beleaguered eyes, and then cries out at what he sees. A ghastly figure in worn winter clothes and a festive scarf puts a finger to his lips, then leans down and offers the boy a stein of cider.
Woody and spicy with a bit of earthy sweetness. Balsam fir, red cedar, ripe holly berries, and cinnamon bark.