On one very cold night, a young child climbs into bed. Tomorrow is the night that Saint Nicholas brings gifts for the good children. The babe lays their head on the pillow, unable to sleep for fits of excitement, but eventually sleep does come. Deep in the night, a visitor appears to the house. Stomp stomp stomp, the sounds of chains and bells ring out in unison. Hooves hit the roof. A hairy black figure sweeps into the child's room, grabs them by the ankle, stuffs them into a scratchy old potato sack, and disappears back into the night. In the morning, Mother comes to rouse her child. She pulls back the covers, and laying in the bed in place of her child is a wee bag filled with coal.
Woody with a hint of sweet spice. A snow-covered pine tree chopped down in the depth of the forest, hot rum, a Christmas stollen fresh from the oven, sweet amber, vanilla, and a hint of patchouli.