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The Penguin Who Met a Polar Bear (Quite by Accident)

In the far, far south, where the sea freezes into bright white plains and the wind sings across the ice, there lived a penguin named Percival.

Percival was a very thoughtful penguin.

He liked to wonder about things.

Why snow squeaks underfoot.
Why fish never seem to shiver.
And why the world had two ends.

“Surely,” Percival once said to himself, “if there is a South Pole, there must be a North Pole too.”

And that thought stayed with him.


A Journey Begins

One breezy afternoon Percival stood on the edge of a large iceberg.

He looked out across the endless ocean.

“I suppose,” he said, “the only way to find out what is at the other end of the world… is to go there.”

Now penguins are excellent swimmers.

But Percival was not planning to swim the whole way.

Just then a large iceberg cracked loose from the shore.

It floated gently into the sea.

Percival blinked.

“Well,” he said, stepping aboard,
“That seems convenient.”

And so the iceberg carried him away.


A Very Long Drift

For many days Percival sailed across the ocean.

He passed whales.

He passed curious seals.

Once he passed a rather confused albatross who asked,

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“I’m exploring,” Percival replied proudly.

The albatross shook its head and flew away muttering something about geography.


The North at Last

At last the air grew colder again.

Ice returned.

Snow blew across the sea.

Percival stepped off his iceberg onto a wide frozen plain.

“Well,” he said, “this certainly looks familiar.”

Just then a large white creature appeared over a ridge.

The creature stopped.

Percival stopped.

They both stared.

The creature tilted its head.

“You,” said the creature slowly, “are not a seal.”

“No,” said Percival politely. “I’m a penguin.”

The creature blinked.

“A penguin?”

“Yes.”

“But penguins live at the South Pole.”

“That is correct,” said Percival.

The creature scratched its head.

“Well,” it said, “polar bears live at the North Pole.”

“Then,” said Percival cheerfully,
“I suppose we are both exactly where we belong.”


A Curious Friendship

The polar bear sat down.

“My name is Bernard,” he said.

“I’m Percival,” said the penguin.

They thought about the situation for a moment.

“Well,” Bernard said finally,
“since penguins and polar bears never meet…”

“This is rather special,” Percival finished.

So they spent the afternoon talking.

Bernard explained snowstorms and northern lights.

Percival explained ice shelves and penguin colonies.

And both agreed on one important thing:

The world is a very big place.

But sometimes, if you drift far enough—

The most unlikely friends can meet.


And somewhere, far to the south, a group of penguins were still wondering where Percival had gone.

But that is another story entirely.

 
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Posted by on March 6, 2026 in Fairy tale

 

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Santa Lost in Time

Santa Lost in Time

Prologue – The Clock at the North Pole

Far, far away, in that snowy corner of the world where no postman dares deliver, there stands Santa’s workshop—a cheerful jumble of chimneys, chiming bells, and windows glowing like lanterns in the long night. Inside, elves scurried here and there like industrious beetles with pointy shoes, hammering, sawing, wrapping, and occasionally stopping for cocoa with three marshmallows (never two, never four).

In the very heart of the workshop stood an object older than Santa himself: the North Pole Clock. It was a contraption of such size and complexity that nobody, not even Santa, could tell which cog belonged to which century. Its hands were long enough to sweep a reindeer’s tail, its pendulum heavy enough to flatten a fruitcake, and its face—golden, solemn, and ever-turning—kept track not just of hours but of seasons.

On one frosty morning, just after a particularly exhausting Christmas (the year of the exploding pogo sticks, if you recall), Santa leaned upon the clock and gave it a friendly wind, as one might do to a reluctant grandfather clock.

“Just a little nudge to keep things running smoothly,” he muttered, with the weary satisfaction of one who thinks he has done a clever thing.

But the clock shuddered. It hiccupped. It gave a very impolite cough. And then, with a whirl, a wheeze, and the mournful sound of a cuckoo bird sneezing, the great hands spun round and round until the numbers blurred.

Before Santa could say “plum pudding,” the workshop, the elves, and even the snow outside dissolved into a blur of colours, and Santa was tumbled head over boots into another time entirely.

To be continued

Want to read more?

Click on the link, below, and enjoy.

Santa Lost in Time

 

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