Our Christmas Stories
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER - THE NEW WINTER STORY WITH RAVEN AND MOUSE
What miserable, soggy weather! It had been raining for days – and just before Christmas, too! The raven was soaked right through beneath his feathers, and the mouse shivered in her wet coat of fur. Christmas would soon be here, and both of them had promised their families to gather the ingredients for the festive meal. In the forest, the raven scratched listlessly at the damp earth to get at the roots. The mouse was terribly excited when she found a bag with a few nuts, a piece of cheese and a big, rosy-cheeked apple, which some walkers had left behind on a bench. The raven speared the bag with his beak and flew it into the bushes near the mouse hole. “I'm not in the mood for Christmas at all,” he said, and fat drops slid down over his dark feathers. “Why not?” the mouse wanted to know. “All my relatives come to visit, and sooner or later they all start cawing wildly over one another.” The mouse looked at the raven in astonishment: “You mean you quarrel?” “Yes, it's always the same. So much for the season of love,” sighed the raven, cawing a little himself as he spoke. “What I'd like best is to celebrate with you.” The mouse pricked up her ears. She always looked forward enormously to Christmas, because the whole mouse hole was packed with the great big gang of mice, and they filled their tummies with treats, snuggled up together and told each other heart-warming stories. It had never even occurred to her that Christmas might be anything other than a peaceful, joyful celebration. 
That night the mouse slept fitfully. She dreamt of the raven family's Christmas: how they all sat cawing on a branch, pecking joylessly at the festive table. Yet their little hearts were beating very loudly, and the mouse could hear how they longed for warmth and closeness. The next day she told the raven about her dream. “We probably all want it to be a lovely Christmas, but somehow we never manage it,” he mused aloud. And so the two of them hatched a plan.
On Christmas Eve the raven made himself comfortable all alone on the branch of his great oak tree; from next door came the happy squeaking of the gang of mice, celebrating together in their hole. But the following evening he waited eagerly with the mouse in the crown of the tree. Thick flakes drifted down from the sky and conjured little caps of snow on their heads. All the treasures they had found were laid out along the branch. The big apple gleamed in the middle. Garlands of pine cones and red berries hung from the twigs. Then they saw black shadows flying silently towards them out of the blue night, carrying something on their backs. Soon the branch was full of raven relatives and many other animals: a squirrel, a hedgehog, an owl, a titmouse – there was even a little raccoon among them. “How lovely that you have all come and taken up my suggestion to put the feast off by a day. Now we can celebrate together as a family and with our best friends,” said the raven solemnly, looking happily round at the colourful gathering. Soon amused cawing, giggling, squeaking and chattering rang out from the oak into the dark night. It sounded almost like a choir. The loveliest Christmas the raven family had had in a long time. When it was time to say goodbye, everyone was light-hearted and happy, and they decided that they did not want to wait until the next Christmas dinner to see each other again.
Ingrid Yasha Rösner, exclusively for the Sauerländer Hof
ALL THAT GLITTERS - A CHRISTMAS STORY
Big, fat snowflakes drifted down from the sky and dressed the fields and trees in a splendid white robe. The day was drawing to a close. The raven sat hidden in a fir tree, peeping out between the branches. He was cold. Opposite him he watched an owl getting ready for the hunt. She was preening her beautiful, white, fluffy plumage. Sadly, the raven lowered his gaze and looked down at his pitch-black coat. In winter it seemed especially ugly to him. His thoughts were interrupted when he saw something golden scurrying through the snow. Lit by the moon, it kept flashing into view. The raven came out of his hiding place and flew down, branch by branch. He could not believe his eyes: it was a mouse with golden fur!
At that very moment the owl snatched her up from the ground and vanished with her into the darkness. The raven was dismayed. He would so much have liked to know how the mouse had come by her extraordinary fur. So he tried to follow the owl - and was in luck. In the dark forest he made out the golden shimmer of the mouse and saw her talking to the owl: “If you eat me, there will be no more Christmas!” “What nonsense,” said the owl, “what are you talking about?” “It's true,” said the golden mouse, “I am ...” She got no further: swooping past, the raven plucked her from the claws of the owl, who shrieked in horror. He flew far and farther still, until he landed with the mouse at the top of a tall tree.
“Are you going to eat me too?” she asked, trembling. “No, I'm far more interested in how you came by your shining fur!” said the raven. “Oh, um. The colour isn't real,” whispered the golden mouse sheepishly. “I was so sad and didn't want to be plain and unnoticed any more. Then I saw through the window how some children were painting paper stars gold. I crept into the house at night, took a bath in the paint pot and dried myself on the warm radiator.” The raven goggled in bewilderment. “Why did you tell the owl there would be no more Christmas if she gobbled you up?” The mouse looked embarrassed. “Well, that was a trick, just like the one with the paint.” “You're very clever, little mouse,” said the raven with a delighted smile. His eyes lit up as he thought of how he might soon look. “No, raven, I'm not. I was rather foolish. The gold covered up my mousy grey, but now I'm more visible than ever. Every night I have to make up some story or other to escape from those who hunt me. Only now do I understand why it wouldn't be good at all if everything were golden. There would be no sky blue and no green meadows, and what would a rainbow be if it were made only of gold? We would forget how many colours life has and that they all belong to it. If we try to hide one of them, we are no longer ourselves. We seem to shine, but it is only glitter, not our own light.”
The raven bowed his head. The moon made his black plumage gleam silver. He understood. How much time he had wasted trying to change something that could not be changed - and that would not have been worth changing anyway. He looked at the mouse: “Come on, I'll help you wash the glitter off.” The mouse nodded and took one more look at her gold-dyed fur. Then the two of them rolled about in the snow, making snow angels, big ones and little ones. Their laughter lit up the dark night.
Ingrid Yasha Rösner, exclusively for the Sauerländer Hof
LIGHT AND SHADOW - THE NEW WINTER STORY WITH RAVEN AND MOUSE
Winter had come round once again. Snowflakes drifted down from the midnight-blue sky. The moon lit up the darkness.
It was quiet, completely quiet. The white swallowed every sound. Only a soft breath of wind could be heard. Cold but gentle, it swept across the snow-covered fields and blew through the fur of the little mouse, who had climbed up the old oak tree to join the raven. Ever since their golden adventure the two of them had been inseparable (this QR code takes you to that story). “Raven,” said the mouse, “how does the moon actually manage to shine so brightly?” “You mean you don't know?” asked the raven in surprise.
The mouse shook her head. “It can only shine at night because it soaks up sunlight during the day,” explained the raven. “How does it do that?” the mouse wanted to know. “Is it some kind of solar cell?” “You know what solar cells are, but you have no idea what goes on out in nature every day,” croaked the raven.
The mouse told him how her mouse uncle had proudly shown all the relatives his new mouse hole. He had fixed a broken-off piece of solar cell to his sunny little hideaway in an old hut and wired it into his parlour with lots of cables. He had explained to them enthusiastically that it would conjure up light and warmth in winter, and that in freezing cold they would no longer have to rely on huddling together.
They all stood there with their little mouths open, not knowing whether this was a good thing or a bad one. But his idea didn't work. Now he was freezing and grumbling to himself; everything seemed useless and worthless to him, and he stayed sitting in his dark hideaway. Nobody could coax him out, not for a ramble across the meadows and fields, not even to Farmer Jakob's granary. “Some things can't be mended,” said the raven, shaking his head, “but you have to know what really matters to you.” The mouse shuffled a little closer to the raven and snuggled up against him.
“I'm glad I can keep warm next to you,” said the mouse, blushing a little beneath her fur. “Things can break, but friendships can't.” “Oh yes, they can,” the raven declared, “if you don't look after them, don't value them and don't show others what they mean to you. Just like your uncle. He isn't cold because his idea doesn't work, but because he is lonely and no longer feels what he really needs in life.” The mouse thought it over – and thought of her mouse uncle. He was hardly recognisable any more.
None of the relatives visited him any more, because he was grumpy and shooed everyone away. It seemed as if a dark shadow had settled over him. The thought made the mouse's fur stand on end, but with the raven by her side she already felt better. The raven felt her trembling, put a wing around her little body and warmed her with his glossy black feathers. The mouse closed her eyes and sighed. No solar cell in the world could give her this feeling. Shelter. Closeness. Togetherness. They gazed up into the starry night sky at the big, round moon.
Somehow it seemed to shine just a little more brightly than before. And the two of them decided to visit the mouse uncle the next day and soak up sunlight outside with him, so that later they could shine out into the dark night together.
Ingrid Yasha Rösner, exclusively for the Sauerländer Hof