I will my hand down the muzzle of my faithful reindeer and will pat his neck. Carefully, without touching the numerous thorns, I will adorn his horns with blue leaves, which are so many in the fall. I will comb the green hair and look tenderly into the dozens of eyes of my pet. It just seems to be so dangerous and intimidating. But it isn't so. In an instant, I will get on his strong back and whisper something in his ear. We will be riding across the scorched wasteland through acid swamps and poisoned puddles. We will be rushing at full speed, but it almost feels like sliding on the ground and it makes me squint and take a deep breath of the cold morning air. Everything starts to blur and the feeling of flying is no longer ephemeral. We're really taking off. And then we disappear.