I heard it before I saw it, a jingling of bells like the soundtrack to a corny Christmas movie. Then out of the mist rolled a small carriage, round and bright as a converted pumpkin. Florescent paintings of outlandish birds, fantastical butterflies and exotic flowers vined up its curving sides. Each leaf and every feather were edged in iridescence and shifted between violet and gold with the slightest of movements. The coach was pulled by a small, sturdy donkey, as black as a starless, moonless night. He shook his head and whinnied, though, in greeting or warning, I couldn't tell. But he looke