Days of Joy: The Story of the Red Suit is a tale of sweeping proportions. There are delightful elfin people, loveable anthropomorphic mice, and other wondrous creatures. Readers will fall in love with the fairies of the mysterious forest of Oltenia who are the makers of the secret fairywovencloth. But, all is not as it seems, and both the North Pole and Oltenia are terrorized by the deadly soprons who follow the mission outlined in their holy book to destroy the days of joy forever. There is much interest in the evolving romantic relationships of elfin and sopron couples, their friendships forged through epic adventures and insights into the culture of elves. Particular attention is paid to their special magic and remarkable haute cuisine, and an exploration of the anguish suffered by the iconoclastic, frustrated artist, Thomas the mouse. Days of Joy emanates from a bold adventure that is certain to be loved by all, from its whimsical opening to its heartstopping climax when the hero, Elmar meets a deadly sopron in mortal combat. At its heart is an exploration of moral conduct and an appreciation of decent behavior that will find favor with reflective readers of all ages. James J. Pallante is a retired educator, with four earned degrees, including a doctorate. He taught at every level from elementary to graduate school as a full professor. He lives with his wife, Joan, in northeast Pennsylvania; they have four children, eleven grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. This is his first novel. Days Of Joy The Story of the Red Suit By James J. Pallante iUniverse, Inc. Copyright © 2009 James J. Pallante All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4401-9243-2 Chapter One Cecubo, one of the two senior grooms for Santa's reindeer, slapped his knee and roared with laughter as his mice friends sang and skip-danced across the hay on the barn floor. Cecubo was selected as a senior groom for his hearty good humor. The reindeer loved his stories, which he told endlessly, interspersed liberally with hearty laughter. He would answer patiently all of the reindeer questions about his complicated stories. This was appreciated by them, as was the fact that his answers were always accompanied with a smile and a gentle pat. His touch never failed to soothe the reindeer and move them to good spirits. Neither his muscular build, bushy mustache, nor bald head, all unusual for an elf, detracted from his effectiveness as a groom, or a reindeer friend. The reindeer swayed in time to the gay singing of the mice. Some of them hummed the music of the mice song; the song was the Elmar Epic, for which the music was well-known. But, the words to the Epic varied depending on which group-in this case, the barn mice-were singing. Not only was it difficult to know all the words to the Elmar Epic, because so many groups had their own original verses, the major complication was the fact that each group was, by tradition, free to replace at least one stanza of an existing verse each year. So, over many spans, the Epic became impossibly difficult to remember. One of the barn mice disengaged herself from her dancing group and pranced onto Cecubo's open palm, which was laid on the barn floor for her benefit. Cecubo raised his palm above his head and danced in time with the music. The mouse in his palm, named Emma, never stopped bellowing the mice's current version of Elmar's Epic. A young elf in Santa's workshop sewed at his bench faithfully. Truth be known, he would rather stop, for in his work, there was no glee. Cecubo remembered parts of the mice song, but his mind was elsewhere. He knew that when they finished the song, they would stop and call for a telling of "The Story of the Red Suit." He knew that he would be expected to do the telling. The mice chorus, led by Emma, continued. Trying to use a silver needle; was beyond his ability. He worried that he would never sew, balanced faircloth on his knee. Cecubo never ceased to be amused by his barn friends, especially the mice. He enjoyed being with them. Emma placed her paws on her hips, rolled her eyes, and danced back on her heels. Cecubo could feel the rhythm pulsing through her tiny body as she bounced heavily in his palm. Her overlong pink scarf would have entangled easily in the fast moving limbs of a less agile dancer. Cecubo lowered his hand to eye level. Emma marched in place, pumping her arms to the music. She fixed her gaze on Cecubo as she conveyed through her eyes and furrowed brow the lyrics that she was singing. But one day, when the dreaded sopron ripped Santa's magical coat and Christmas looked to disappear, Elmar crossed that fearful moat Cecubo raised his eyebrows to acknowledge the fearful story that Emma was singing. Nothing was more frightening to the creatures of the North Pole than the thought of Christmas disappearing for all time. This was especially true for elves. Emma's voice was beginning to crack from her shouting the song; her energy wa