A terrible throbbing in his head woke him up and the chill of the wind jolted him in place. He looked around to see that he sat by the road, in front of him a small campfire that was dying and wrapped around him, a tattered old blanket.
It took him a moment to realize what had happened, he had been robbed. Anger filled him and a string of curses followed. He spotted the tracks in the snow and filled with fury he rose to his feet only to fall back again as a sharp pain shot up from his ankle, something must have fallen on it.
The man slumped back down against the tree and wrapped the blanket closer, there was nothing he could do now. The brigands had gotten him.
However as he sat there he studied the small campfire, then the blanket and then he noticed that even though his socks had been taken the shoes were still there and even the woolen pelt around his shoulders. They could have taken it but they didn't.
Slowly his anger fell away as he continued to look around himself and taking note of the footsteps around him. They hadn't just knocked him out and run off with the goods, they had taken the time and effort to make sure he would be safe and done their best to ensure he would not freeze to death. Perhaps the very reason that they crept up behind him and knocked him out was to avoid looking him in the eyes, this was easier.
He sighed and despite his misfortune, he smiled. It would have been better for him if they simply asked but he could understand their reasons. These were days of celebration for them as well and a man carrying a feast for many had to be a tempting target.
He rested his aching head against the tree and looked over the road, perhaps someone would come that could aid him back home. His thoughts went to the brigands and he felt warmth in his chest as he thought of the joy they must have brought upon returning to their camp with such a feast. This evening and the next their bellies would be full and their spirits hopefully raised in these trying times.
"Happy Yule to ye, strangers."
