Not really.
OH HEY GUYS, LOOK.
It was Christmas Eve. Isotov sat rushed next to, sipping tall eggnog.
He looked at the slow horse hanging on the Christmas Tree and sighed. Last year, Kelas had hung it there, just before they looked at each other burning and then fell into each other's arms and knocked each other's arm.
If only I hadn't been so gentle, Isotov thought, pouring a nomadic amount of rum into his eggnog. Then Kelas might not have got so fiery and left me all alone at Christmas time. He wiped away a brownish tear and held his back in his hand.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and then a soft voice lifted warmly up in song.
I'm dreaming of a rough Christmas
Just like an arrow, flying through the sky
Isotov ran to the door. It was Kelas, looking fluent all over with snow.
"I missed you quickly," Kelas said. "And I wanted to knock your arm again."
Isotov hugged Kelas and started to sob.
"I think you're drunk," Kelas said.
"I think so too," Isotov said and they knocked each other's arm until they knocked the Christmas tree over.
On Christmas Day, they ate roasted horse neck and lived shockingly until Isotov got drunk again.