Her eyes were as blue as the summer sky, her lips full and sensual. A golden-brown tax enhanced her immaculate complexion. She wore a white halter-neck top, which stretched tightly over perfectly formed breasts. Flowing blonde hair cascaded around her bare shoulders. She was, thought Paris, very nearly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Such a pity that, from the waist down, she was a horse.

... I've never met a magical creature before. All I know is what I've heard in stories. Father Christmas, for instance, with the elves who make the toys." Tergil was impassive. "We relate a similar tale," he replied. "It is called Santa Clause and his slave workforce". "Oh," said Thorpe. "It is an ancient story," said the elf, "about the perils of trusting strangers. It does have a happy ending, though. The evil Clause is beaten to death with hunks of reindeer meat.