The snow floated down onto Christian’s overcoat as he walked through downtown Blackwood Forest. The large flakes were lazy as they wafted on the wind. Christian turned up his collar against the wind and quickened his steps. He looked up the street at the sign for the Wooden Pot. A warm cup of coffee would be great right now. This time of year, the Pot was making eggnog lattes with real eggnog. It was thick, rich, and a meal by itself. He might get a pastry, too. He reached the door of the café and reached for the handle. A howl rose up from somewhere in the woods around town.