The Story of the Logosmas Stocking

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By: Anoshia Posted on: November 10, 2006

"Come here, hon. Let me tell you a story before you go to bed."

Two bright blue eyes looked up curiously as a young atavian turned her curious gaze from the smoldering fireplace towards her mother, her ears perking at the request. Her tiny hands clasped the fluffy white trim of a bright red Logosmas stocking, stitched upon in gold with the young maiden's name. Nodding her head, she quickly hung the sock upon the stone ledge, bouncing eagerly over to her mother's side.

The woman looked down lovingly upon her babe's pudgy face as she asked, "Do you know why we hang stockings at Logosmas, dearest?"

Tilting her head sideways as a spray of brunette curls fell across her face, the girl piped, "For treats, momma?"

Laughing quietly, the atavian woman reached out two hands, lifting the winged child easily into her lap. She adjusted her legs, letting the girl turn to face her as she leaned back comfortably, beginning to speak in a low, fluid voice.

"Many years ago, before you or even I was born, there lived a band of tiny creatures called pixies. They were small, witty creatures, and each of their kind hand a beautiful pair of gossamer wings."

"Like ours, momma?"

The woman shook her head and pursed her lips. "No, pixie wings are very different from ours. Look at the size of your hand. Their wings weren't much bigger than that, and they look like much the dragonflies we find down at the brook."

Holding her hand squarely in front of her round face, the child examined her chubby fingers inquisitively, blinking in amazement.

"Very small, isn't it? Though they weren't big at all, they were a clever lot. Pixies are well-known for being quite resourceful when they need to be," she chimed with a grin.

"Now, this particular bunch of pixies lived on the mainland, very far from Arcadia. Sadly, a band of cruel imps hand imprisoned the tiny creatures, making them into slaves and taking them from their woodland home. Imps are wicked creatures, and they showed no love for the captives. The pixies were devastated, and for many years their people knew no other life than one of servitude to the nasty imps."

The young girl nodded fervently, leaning in closer to heed her mother's words.

"One winter, which happened to be particularly cold, two small pixie children had spent a long, tiring day working the fields, and they found that their poor, tiny stockings were sodden with dirt and water. They returned to their pens with heavy hearts, walking upon frozen little feet-"

"But momma, why didn't the pixies just fly?"

The woman grinned at her daughter, tapping the child's button-like nose lightly. "That's a very good question. The pixies did try to fly many times, but when they would start to hover in the air, the imps would find them and bind their beautiful wings. Soon they started to walk regularly, afraid to even flutter for fear of the imps' brutality."

The child's eyes opened wide with shock, and her fingers absently found the bottom feathers of her youthful wings. Keeping her eyes fixated upon her mother, she held the soft plumule tightly.

"Now, back to the two children... They had just returned to camp, eager to find their parents, for the pixies knew that the cold season meant Logosmas was approaching swiftly. You see, even though the pixies were prisoners and had lost everything, they still found cheer in the stories and celebrations of their people. Every winter, the pixie parents would tell their children tales of how Logosmas used to be before the imps had found them. Because the stories were so grand and fanciful, the children had no need for toys or candies, and only longed to hear the tales of their homeland."

"After the two children had sat down with their parents and listened to the wonders of Logosmas past, the pixie mother got a very clever idea. She noticed the children's wet stockings, and asked for each pair to be removed and given to her. Then, ever so silently, the mother snuck to the edge of their small pen, crouching down beside the bars that overlooked a smoldering fireplace, burning just outside of the fence. Sticking her thin arm through the railing, she carefully tossed the tiny socks next to the dwindling coals, careful not to lob them into the fire. After she was sure no one had seen her and the stockings were safely concealed beside the fire bed’s rocks, she returned to the children, and told them that they would each have a pair of warm stockings for Logosmas when morning came."

"What happened next?" The girl asked in confusion. "Did the mother get caught?"

Smiling softly, the woman placed a gentle finger to her lips, shaking her head. "No, she was not caught. Something much more amazing happened..."

"The imps also knew about Logosmas, and though they were an unruly bunch, they too celebrated with wild festivities. That night, the imp guards brought forth their finest ale, passing frothing flagons amongst themselves until each imp was stumbling with silliness. They hooted and hollered, dancing crazily around the fire pit as they sang their people's songs and danced the dances of their ancestors."

"It happened that one of the clumsier imps, who was also not especially smart, tripped over his fat feet, falling upon his face with a loud thud. His flagon tumbled to the floor, and his bulging pockets filled with candies spilt out upon the ground. He scrambled greedily, trying desperately to gather all of the treats that were now dirty, smashed, and littered around the coals. What the imp did not notice was his small grey key had accidentally slipped between the fire's rocks, coming to rest miraculously within one of the tiny, hidden stockings, and in his haste to nab the sweets, the key was forgotten."

"The next morning, the tired imps lazily awoke the pixies, prodding them angrily to get to work. Each imp had droopy eyes and yawned from little sleep, still recovering from the previous night's celebration. As the pixie family was pushed from their pen, the mother quickly slunk to the fire, concealing the warm socks beneath her dirty dress. After the pixies were safely out of sight from the sleepy imps, she gave the socks to the children."

"The younger child, a tiny pixie girl with a shy voice, pulled confusedly at the hem of her mother's garment. The mother turned to question her daughter, but gaped in astonishment as the lass reached two small fingers into the stocking and removed the grey key. Stifling a gasp of amazement, the mother immediately recognised it, and whispered excitedly for the girl to hide it away until that later that night, for she knew that the old key could mean freedom for all of their kin. As the pixies began to set to work, the family spread word, telling others to be prepared come nightfall, claiming the gods had looked kindly upon their people, delivering them an unexpected Logosmas gift."

"As night drew near and the slaves returned to their cages, the pixies began to gather in the largest pen. They kept quiet and whispered amongst themselves in wonderment at what could possibly free them from their years of slavery. A hush fell over the folk as the two parents brought forward the young lass, and all eyes watched as her small fingers once more withdrew the grey key from beneath the fold of her sock."

"That night, using the key, the pixies were able to escape into the darkness and flee the captivities of the imps. It wasn't until morning that the recovering guards realised what had happened, but it was too late. The pixies had already flown away, retreating into the snowy skies as they returned home. Since then, the pixies have passed down the stories of the fabled Logosmas stocking, and in remembrance, their children left out a sock in hopes that they too would be shined upon with treats and fancies by the gods. We too leave our stockings now, though only a few know of the small lass whose tiny sock started it all."

The mother beamed broadly as she finished the tale, returning focus to her child. She stifled a laugh as she realised the lass was already lost in silent slumber, curled up lovingly within her mother's arms. The atavian woman shook her head softly, cooing affectionately in the lass's ear as she leaned back, drifting into sleep as images of holiday merriment lingered in her mind.