You come upon a forest.
Fog weaves itself between tall, narrow trees. Autumn leaves are carried on a breeze of familiar whispers, voices you swear you recognize, but are gone much too soon for you to assess.
You sniff the air and are met with the fleeting aromas of gingerbread, pine, chocolate, and firewood. The murmurs of Christmas. As you push on, the winds grow warmer, the smells more intense. The muffled conversations, while unintelligible, become louder, almost as if there were people right behind you.

Overwhelmed, you curl up into a ball atop the fallen leaves.
A different voice cheers your name.

"Jani!"
You lift your head just enough to decipher an equine figure standing in the fog.