The morning sun was already peeking over the forest as he climbed the snowy hill. He was running late. He pulled the fur-trimmed red robe tight around his wizened frame and doubled his efforts.
The workshop was old, carved from black stone and blue glacial ice. No reindeer pranced or helpers scurried about. There was no sleigh.
The songs and the stories, the presents and cookies were not the magic. They were embellishments.
A circle of light stood in the center of the cavernous structure. He sat down in the center and began the song that would renew the world.

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