Setting: Puck’s home in Morar, Scotland, in the high branches of an old oak tree.
Word Count: 619

A chilling wind brushed past Puck’s shoulders, the scent of rain just faint on the breeze, a remnant of the morning’s shower. Clouds hung heavy in the sky overhead, betraying that the break in the weather was only temporary. The bark he was leaning on was damp, and Puck knew he’d have the soft impression of it stained into the back of his jumper when he decided to swing himself down from the tree. Dappled sunlight drifted across his skin and the clouds drifted softly, and he could see where the light reflected off the still surface of the water down the hill. As long as the weather held up, he’d take a kayak out to the island that afternoon, it was too hard to break tradition after all these years, and sometimes James seemed to still be there, when Puck sat and listened in the places they’d spent the most time together. If he closed his eyes now, head tilted back against the trunk, he could almost imagine James’ shoulder pressed against his, and the sound of his laughter echoed in Puck’s ears.

It was this sort of reminiscing that had Puck up the old oak tree on christmas morning, alone in the scottish winter weather but not really feeling the cold. His mother wasn’t up yet, and whilst normally she would have been woken hours ago but their excitement, Puck didn’t quite have it in him this year, not when he’d be waking her up alone. So instead he’d come outside, pulled himself up into the boughs of the oak and sat, tracing the constellations until the first rays of light started to wash them away.

Now he sat, leaning against the trunk, watching as the light glinted off the Loch in the distance. The soft shaking of the tree gave away Puck's visitor, and he moved himself along the branch, making room as his uncle swung up next to him. Opening an arm he shuffled closer to Puck, who moved to rest against his side, head on his shoulder. It was almost close enough to resting against James to pretend his brother was there, if not for the soft floral scent that followed his uncle everywhere.

“Heya kiddo,” The words were soft, muffled where they were spoken into Puck’s hair, ”Merry Christmas.” It was still weird to think of it as Christmas when there was such a large absence that seemed to follow him around, but leaning against his Uncle, Puck felt close enough to family that the endearment towards the holiday glowed warm in his chest. “Taing,”Thanks Puck moved to sit up, curling an arm around his uncle’s waist, “You too uncle Fin.” They sat for a while, leaning against the tree together and pointing out the birds that flew past, comfortable silence until Finley reached to take one of Puck’s hands and placed a small, soft ball in it, withdrawn from one of the many pockets of his cloak. Looking at it closer, Puck realised it was a small pouch, lined with soft material. There was a small bundle of fur inside, which in response to the movement twitched and then- poked its nose out.

“It’s a ferret. Well uh, European Polecat but far as far as I can tell they’re more or less the same thing, give or take a touch of feral. The shelter Cammy’s workin’ at had ‘em but couldn’t keep ‘em. He thought you might like one but if you don’t there’s plenty ‘o other places that’ll want him I’m sure-” Puck cut his uncle off, leaning in to hug him and being careful not to crush the tiny creature in his hands. “I love ‘im Uncle Fin, thank you.”