“Very badly,” I add.
The singing grows louder, punctuated by what sounds like laughter. I stand up, peering into the darkness beyond the circle of firelight. A movement catches my eye—something white and fluffy, followed by a smaller, decidedly human shape.
The llama emerges from the treeline. Even from this distance, his expression can only be described as long-suffering.
Behind him stumbles the little blonde omega who’s renting the Grand Cabin, Melody. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bright, and her movements are unsteady enough to suggest she’s had a few drinks.
We watch in collective amazement as Melody spins in a wobbly circle, nearly falls, rights herself with a loud laugh, and continues her journey.
Oxford follows at a safe distance, as if worried about being associated with her performance.
“Should we… help?” Finn asks.
Before anyone can respond, Melody spots us. She stops mid-verse, arm frozen in mid-gesture.
“Hello, bonfire people!” she calls, waving enthusiastically. She redirects her path toward us, Oxford reluctantly following.
“You won’t believe what I found,” she announces, reaching the edge of our circle. Before we can respond, she replies triumphantly, “A llama!”
“I see that,” I say, trying to conceal my laugh as I step forward to meet them. “Thank you for bringing him back.”
“We had an adventure,” she says, then stage-whispers to Oxford. “Didn’t we?”
He just stares back at her. His blue scarf—the one Granny knitted last winter—is slightly askew.
“He was watching me through the window,” she continues, approaching the fire. “Scared the life out of me at first. I thought he was a… I don’t know… a snow monster? Do you have those here? Snow monsters?”
Finn snorts into his cocoa. “Only the abominable kind.”
Her eyes widen. “There are abominable snow monsters in Snowflake Valley?”
“He’s joking,” I say quickly. “There are no snow monsters.”
“Oh.” She looks almost disappointed, then spots our mugs. “Is that hot cocoa? I love hot cocoa.”
Her enthusiasm is charming, especially how she pronounces “cocoa” as if it’s the most thrilling thing ever, while wearing reindeer pyjama pants and a green garland as a scarf.
“Would you like some?” I offer. “There’s plenty.”
“Yes, please,” she says, then adds with complete seriousness, “I’ve been walking a llama, and it’s thirsty work.”
Finn laughs outright at that, and even Gabe’s lips twitch.
“You want to sit with us by the fire?” Finn asks.
She considers this for approximately half a second. “Why not? It’s Christmas.”
“It’s December 14th,” Gabe points out.
“Christmas adjacent,” she corrects.
Oxford has wandered over to the barn, where he’s examining his hay with a critical eye.
Now that she’s closer, I catch her scent again—vanilla and clove, but warmer now, almost spicy. My alpha hindbrain perks up with interest, which I firmly ignore.
“So,” Melody says, “about that hot cocoa?”
I find myself laughing despite the absurdity of the situation.