After

He's not long got home. The runners crunched over the snow. He welcomed the sharp, fresh smell of it. It meant home, and rest.

The team slowed to a halt, heads lowering and panting breaths creating clouds in the air. Their flanks steamed, and every fibre of hair drooped. It had been a tough run this year. They were truly exhausted.

A group of workers was already approaching over the blanket of white. They were fast and strong, a bit like ants. In no time, they were swarming over the team, removing tack and bells. They carried it away to be cleaned, treated and stowed, ready for the next run.

A small group of them clustered together, watching him heave his bulk out of the seat and disembark. His treetrunk-like legs wobbled. The magic wore thin, and he was tired. Beyond tired. They stood ready to help him if he started to fall.

One ran ahead opened the door, and pulled up a stool ready. Two more tended to the fire. The smell of smoke hung in the little kitchen.

He removed his red coat, his hat and goggles, then toed off his fur lined black boots, one after the other. He trembled again. One worker pushed the stool closer, right up to his backside. He sank onto ithe seat, gratitude rising off him like steam. Another guided a steaming mug of chocolate into Santa's huge, hairy hand. None of them said a word.

Before long, his chin drooped, and so did his beard and his eyelids.

Once they were finished with him, they built the cocoon round him where he was, carefully tending the fire so he would stay nice and warm. Warm Santas produced plenty of eggs. Healthy ones, too. If tended carefully, they would hatch into bonnie elf larvae, with several good enough to be fed Red Jelly.

His only job now was to produce hundreds, if not thousands of eggs.

The operation grew year on year to keep pace with the expanding human population.

Two of which watched all this unfold from their hiding place, behind a particularly large red sack of toys in the back of the sleigh.