The darkening evening swallowed what little warmth the winter sun had provided throughout the day. However, streets still bustled with people, and elegant horses pulled along lavish carriages. Water splashed as the wheels broke the surface of fine ice atop puddles on cobbled stone roads. The horses’ hooves felt neither the chill in their hooves as they trotted through the town, nor did their skin feel the icy air as they glided through it. But besides the warm-blooded beasts, everyone else wore scarves and gloves and big, thick woollen coats.
        Thomas watched the shadows with his freckled face pressed up against the windowpane. His nose tingled with an icy burn.
        ‘Oh look, Father!’ Thomas yelled. Both his hands pressed against the glass and his nose squeaked as he scrunched it harder against the night’s reflection.
        His father smiled, not looking up from his chore. He was used to Thomas waiting eagerly at the window every evening for the same event.
        Thomas’s green eyes widened as he watched the first warm glow light up the dark night – followed by another, and another. Soon, a trail of blazing lights followed a lantern burner’s shadow as he continued lighting the street lamps.
        ‘London always looks best by night,’ said Thomas.
        Now the street lamps were lit, he could see passers-by and make out the details of their faces properly. He watched big carriages rocking along the roads, transfixed by the handsome horses pulling them. Against the night, their coats shone as if covered with magic.
        Thomas liked magic. He also liked hot chocolate, but as much as his mother pestered him, he could never bring himself to like sprouts. This fact didn’t stop sprouts appearing on his plate every Sunday though – much to his annoyance.
        ‘I wish I could have a horse,’ Thomas said, watching a fine pair of black beasts trot by. Thomas’s father gave a tut and carried on with his work.
        Both Thomas and his father were in the workshop. Many lanterns lit the room with a yellow glow, casting flickering shadows against the walls and sawdust-covered floor. The room smelt earthy and familiar, and Thomas closed his eyes and imagined he was standing in a forest. But the sound of his father sanding, chopping and grinding wood didn’t make Thomas’s illusion work particularly well. He knew he was in London, no matter how hard he imagined standing in the green countryside.
        Thomas’s father was a carpenter, and a very good one at that. He carved the finest flutes and musical instruments in London and all around. He also carved beautiful wooden dolls (but of course, Thomas never had much time for such girlish things). Thomas’s father often crafted great games made from fragrant smelling pinewood. They gleamed and shone and felt smooth in the hand. But as much as Thomas liked musical instruments and great games, he could never keep any of them.
        ‘That is worth a lot of money,’ Father said, eyeing Thomas, who was inspecting a flute in his hand. ‘Put it down; I already have a buyer for that.’
        So you see, even though all Thomas’s friends had wonderful gifts made by his father’s hands, Thomas had none.
        All he could do was look and dream. And he could only imagine what his father was making this night.
        ‘What’s it going to be?’ asked Thomas, cocking his head to look at the big chunk of wood.
        His father looked up and lay down his chisel.
        ‘Going to be?’ he asked, looking puzzled. ‘It already is. All I have to do is cut around the bits that aren’t it yet.’
        This might have made sense to his father, but it made no sense to Thomas. So he shrugged his shoulders and shuffled back towards the window to watch the passing horses and carriages. After only a moment, his curiosity got the better of him.
        ‘Can’t you give me a clue?’ he asked.
        ‘It will be a horse,’ Father said eventually, finally settling Thomas’s inquisitiveness.
        Thomas’s eyes widened. ‘A horse?’ he repeated.
        ‘Yes, a horse, and a very fine horse too – a rocking horse.’ Father got back to work.
[end of sample]