Ingefaer's Familiar

Dear friends, you get a special treat this year. Not only do I have a new Mrs. Claus story to share, but I wanted to also share with you the story I wrote last year in 2023. Up till now, it was a Patreon exclusive. But now, a year later, I want to share it with you all. So here is the story of Ingefaer’s familiar.

Settle in, dear children of all ages, for I want to tell you another story. Just one more tale and then it's time to go to bed and wait for my husband to fill your stockings with coal or surprises. 

I believe the last time we spoke I was telling you the story of how Runeolf became a part of our lives, arriving from Faerieland every December 24th to help us deliver toys and gifts to all the neighboring villages. Because yes, at first when we started our wondrous undertaking, we could only do so much in one night. Even with my potions and Klaus's magic, we found ourselves unable to keep pace with our legend as it grew and spread across the countryside.

But I have no time to tell that story today, I'm afraid. This year the frost mistletoe harvest came late and we were so far behind in making toys, I could barely get Klaus's supply of Sugarplum Visions ready for the big sleigh ride in case any naughty little children try to spy a glimpse of him on his rounds, and...oh it's just been a bit chaotic. Point is, that's a longer story and I have to keep this brief. So let me get back on track.

Klaus and I weren't always immortal like we are now. In those years when we were both burning the candle at both ends and Runeolf was our only supernatural assistance, the years slipped by faster than dear Santa could wiggle down a chimney. Back in those days, he didn't have the beard of white you hear about in so many songs. His hair and mine both matched in ginger fire, and though our task lists were formidable, we were young and strong and thought we would stay that way forever. 

But as Klaus and I laughed through the years, and we both shared so many joys, we started to notice the creases stayed next to our eyes even when we weren't smiling. And our bones grew stiffer on the cold Nordic winter mornings. Time was catching up with us it would seem. One morning, I gave a cry as I washed my hair in the basin and combed it to dry. Klaus was in the bedroom putting on his sturdy brown boots, and came running. His eyes twinkled and he gave a signature belly laugh when I told him the cause of my distress. 

"I found my first white hair!" I cried to him. It wasn't my humblest hour I admit. And I had long admired the beautiful snowy locks of my grandmother and other village elders. I simply...hadn't expected the time to come for me already. And I loved my long auburn tresses. Allow me a bit of vanity?

Klaus came over to me and swept me up in his arms, soggy hair and all. He inspected my head, and with a tender gentleness, he pulled the single thick strand from my head, handing it to me. "A witch's first white hair is strong magic, my dear. Keep this safe. I'm afraid there are bound to be more where it came from, and won't it be easier for us both to camouflage in the winter snow with alabaster locks?"

I smiled at him and shoved aside my momentary shock. Tucking the thread of silver into a bottle, I pushed it to the back of my potions cupboard and tried to forget about it. But the hair represented more than just my bruised vanity. It worried me that we were finding it harder and harder to accomplish our mission each year as we got older. When would we have to slow down, and how many children would wake up on Christmas morning disappointed?

I focused on each task at hand, and day to day life sped by as it is wont to do. A day came the following early autumn that Klaus returned from a trip to the woods to chop firewood with an extra bundle on his cart. Carefully he brought a large brown rabbit into the house, lying prone and limp in his arms, eyes wide and wild. 

Oh, the moment I looked into those eyes, my heart leapt and swelled, and my magic rose to meet hers. It is hard to explain, but I knew her heart instantly, and I could see through the pain in her eyes that she saw within me as well. I had met my familiar. After decades of presuming I would never have one, when one never appeared after my magic arrived in youth.

Her foot had been injured in a trapper's steel claw, Klaus explained. I wiped tears from my eyes, and set to work. Runeolf had not been the only injured animal Klaus had previously brought home, after all. We had a weakness for helping whoever we could, whether they walked on two feet or four. The foot had a clean break, but the poor one had been left out in the cold for a long time before Klaus had found her, and the wound had festered. 

Jostling jars and bottles of potions and herbs in my cabinets, I came across the bottle with the strand of my hair. Something in my heart told me to use it in my healing spell. Slamming my mortar down on the table with a vehemence born more of determination than anger, I mixed up a salve of calendula, pine, and eucalyptus, gently smoothing it over the injured limb, wrapping it with linen, and binding it with twine and the single white strand. I whispered healing words to her, and looked up at Klaus. I didn't have to say a word. With surprise in his eyes, he said "it's her, isn't it?" and I nodded. 

The brown lepid healed. And at the first opportunity I asked an acquaintance in the next village who specialized in animal care if they knew what she was. They explained that she was a mountain hare, which I rarely had seen in the forest where we lived. I never left her side as she gained strength, not for more than a moment. She would sleep nestled next to me. On those nights, lying on my side with a warm ball of fur against my stomach and Klaus's hand touching my waist as he slept, I basked in all the love I had been gifted, and decided to trust the magic of the world: there would be a way for us to continue our calling, even as we grew older. We would find a way. 

Autumn slipped into early winter, and one morning I was inspecting my familiar's wound when I noticed a pale strand of fur among the russet. Her winter coat was growing in. I called Klaus over and showed him. Without skipping a beat, twinkle in his eye, he said "She must be your familiar: It looks like you got your second white hare."