The snow came down slow at first, just a dusting on the fields beyond the war barn. By midday, the holler was near-blanketed. Smoke curled from cabin chimneys, and the war scrolls hung limp on the wall, ignored for the moment in favor of hot cider and warm quilts.
Ma stood at the window of the main cabin, arms crossed, watching Alexis pelt Looty with a snowball so hard he toppled backward into a drift. The cousins howled. Across the clearing, Ellie Mae had recruited Nickie into building what she insisted was a “defense-ready snowman” complete with a sharpened stick for a nose and buttons made of goblin teeth.
Inside, the hearth crackled. Ma hadn’t changed out of her wool socks or apron since sun up. The morning had been chaos, again. Territory Wars, always hell this time of year, had left the war barn looking like a crime scene. Half the scrolls were torn, others smudged with soot and ink and stars that never got filled. They were outmatched. No one was following war instructions and Ma was having to hunt down more goblins than usual for attacks and, even then, they weren’t all attacking. And now they were playing in the snow instead of doing their attacks.
“I told y’all to hit before supper, not after,” she’d snapped earlier at the Nest scroll. “And MG, if you’re too sick to swing a spell, why are you in the fire circle braggin’ about your new game level?”
MG had gone quiet after that.
Krypto, who hadn’t hit at all, stormed through the barn that morning muttering curses and declaring he was done with Territory Wars. “It’s rigged! The matchups are garbage! You’ve GOT to take me out of the lineup! I’m not attacking, and don’t ask again.”
Goodfella raised a brow. “Stop your tantrum and rally the damn troops.” Then he turned to Ma. “This kid needs his ass kicked.”
Ma, squinting over her spectacles, had just pointed at him and said, “Eat something, Krypto. You’re cranky when you’re hungry. And you’re staying in the lineup. We ain’t got the numbers to take you out.”
“Doesn’t help,” Krypto grunted, slamming the door on his way out.
But sure enough, two hours later, he’d hit his target in the Nest, filled every war chest, and even scribbled out a decent attack plan in charcoal for the others.
Lemons, meanwhile, had done the unthinkable. In the midst of switching between the Nest and the main holler, he’d struck a base already cleared by Ellie Mae.
“Wait, that one’s already down,” Ma said, squinting at the scroll.
“Too late,” Nickie muttered, rubbing her temples.
Pa, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, let out a long exhale. “Well, that cost us the win.”
Ma turned. “If he’d hit his actual target and tripled, wouldn’t we still have been short?”
Pa shook his head, a bit exasperated. “Just… nevermind.”
Nickie, off to the side, whispered the math. Ma blinked, sighed, and mumbled, “Too early for numbers.”
Lemons did come to her later, hat in hand, asking to be pulled from war. “Got obligations outside the holler for the holiday. Just can’t focus right now.”
“We all got distractions,” Ma said sympathetically. “But thanks for tellin’ me straight.”
Slaughter stormed in not long after, growling about ricochet cannons and inferno towers. “This ain’t strategy, it’s sorcery!”
MG still hadn’t attacked.
“You seen him in the fire circle, Pa?” Ma asked that night.
“Ain’t blind,” Pa replied. “Everyone needs a break. You do too.”
Ma scowled. “Not when I’m the one holdin’ the belt.”
Pa looked her over, that quiet weight behind his eyes. “Spread some Christmas cheer. Tell ‘em they all did good and they get a break until the new year.”
“I ain’t lyin’ to the ones who did awful and just didn’t care,” Ma retorted. “You’re being awful lenient for slackers.”
Pa chuckled. “After Christmas, throw ’em all out if you want. But give the holler a few days to breathe.”
It took Pa forever to make it back that evening.
He’d been out tending the northern wards when the snow turned sleet, then ice. The trails turned to slush, his boots soaked clean through. By the time he trudged into the holler, cloak dripping and brows crusted in frost, Ma was waiting at the porch with a lantern lit.
“Told you to leave the northern fields be today,” she scolded gently, brushing snow from his shoulders. “Now you’ve missed your attack.”
“Had to finish it,” he grumbled, shaking out his coat. “Not leavin’ it half done. And we couldn’t win anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
“It always matters,” she handed him a hot toddy. “Your stubborn’s showing.”
He took it and simply grunted a reply, heading straight toward the fireplace to get warm.
Once the wars were over and stars tallied, barely, the holler began to thaw in spirit. Ma’s sister witch, Jules, showed up for the holidays. She was a chaotic energy, one Pa tolerated for Ma’s sake, but the goblins loved it.
It was Krypto’s idea, probably. Or maybe Nickie’s. Either way, the cousins snuck out during Raid Weekend, raided the human village at the edge of the woods, and came back with a wagon full of loot: tangled Christmas lights, chipped nutcrackers, half a case of peppermint schnapps, and a blow up reindeer that Looty tried to tame until it bit him (or so he claimed).
The holler lit up like a patchwork quilt. Lights strung between cabins and trees, ornaments made of scrap metal and spell stones. Even Bacon the pig wore reindeer antlers with jingle bells wrapped around his belly, jingling with every proud trot like he was leading a sleigh. The cousins had even rigged up a glowing red light bulb to his snout and attached a makeshift sleigh to his harness, two crates lashed together with twine and half a curtain for flair. Bacon snorted proudly as he pulled RG, Nickie, and Ellie Mae through the holler like the most chaotic version of Rudolph ever conjured.
At one point, Bacon broke loose entirely, squealing down the slope, sleigh flying behind him. RG and Nickie bounced out when the makeshift sleigh hit an especially large bump, leaving Ellie Mae still inside screaming “STOP PIG!!” as the jingle bells echoed into the trees. Pa calmly sipped his coffee, mumbling “he’ll tire out soon,” and didn’t even flinch.
Later, out by the frozen pond, the goblins tried skating. They were…not great at it.
“Hold me up!” cried Nickie.
“I am holding you, stop flailin’!” yelled Ellie Mae.
Just then, RG attempted a dramatic triple spin, failed halfway through, and plowed straight into a snowbank. Jay laughed so hard he lost his balance and fell backward onto a frozen over fishing hole the cousins had drilled earlier, mostly for chaos, not for fishin’. The hole cracked just enough for him to land with a loud splash and a yelp, vanishing up to his hips in freezing water.
Several cousins rushed to pull him out, slipping and sliding as they yanked him free.
“Come inside!” Ma yelled from the porch. “You can’t stay out here all wet! Go dry off by the fireplace before you freeze solid!”
Jay waved her off. “I’m fine!!”
“You’re gonna turn into an icicle!” Ma hollered again. “Get inside now or I’m sendin’ Pa after you with the belt!”
Pa, from his chair on the porch, looked up from his mug. “Why you draggin’ me into this?”
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” Jay grumbled, sloshing his way toward Ma and Pa’s cabin, clothes already stiffening from the cold.
Jules strolled up behind them, sly grin forming. With a muttered word and a flick of her fingers, a sudden whoosh of magic sent the sleds soaring over the ice like shooting stars.
“Witch!” screamed Krypto, spinning like a top.
Ma gave Jules a look. “That was not helpful.”
“Oh, come on. It’s Christmas.”
“They’re gonna break bones,” Ma complained.
Jules snickered. “I got potions for that.”
But eventually, Jules stopped her chaos long enough to join the younger nestlings on the ice, keeping it calm for them since they were a bit more afraid of her and her magic.
Back inside the war barn, the cousins gathered for cookie decorating and a gingerbread house contest. Jay kept sneaking icing straight from the bowl, and Eri was caught eating one of the gingerbread walls mid build.
“You eat another wall, you’re disqualified,” Ma warned.
“I’m taste-testing!”
“Your house has no roof!”
“Still standing, ain’t it?”
Pa was wrangled into being the judge. He stood with arms crossed, peering at crooked candy chimneys and sideways sugar shingles like a man staring down a war map.
“Just pick one,” Ma nudged him.
“They all look like they’re gonna collapse in a stiff wind.”
“That’s part of the fun.”
He sighed, pointed at one with a candy cane drawbridge and muttered, “I guess this one’s the least disastrous.”
The cousins erupted into cheers and protests.
Outside, Jules led a crew of carolers around the holler, with Bacon following and snorting along. Their version of “Deck the Halls” included extra verses about inferno towers and spoon wielding witches.
Later that night, the firepit blazed, casting golden light across the snow dusted holler. Mugs of hot chocolate steamed in every hand, some laced with liquor, some just sweet and warm. Looty passed around his weekly stolen marshmallows from raid weekend, acting like he’d done the holler a great service.
They ate their cookies, devoured their gingerbread houses (Pa gave up judging after the third one had a bite out of it), and sang slightly off key carols until their bellies ached from laughter. Sugar highs gave way to sleepy grins. Some cousins nodded off mid story, others bundled up near the fire, bellies full and hearts warmer still.
Ma looked around the circle, cheeks flushed, eyes soft. Jules sat beside her, humming an old tune under her breath. Pa was behind her, steady and quiet as always, but with that faint glint in his eye that only Ma seemed to catch.
Tomorrow, the magic would come. But tonight was enough, just them, just this, just home.
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