Frostel's Christmas Tree

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Frostel stood tall in the village square, his carrot nose pointing proudly at the winter sky. He loved watching the children race past, their boots crunching through fresh snow. But something felt different today. The square seemed empty without its usual centerpiece. "The old Christmas tree fell in last year's storm," sighed Mrs. Pine, the baker. "Now there's nothing special here." Frostel's coal eyes sparkled with determination. He would find a way to bring Christmas magic back to their square!

Every morning, Frostel watched the sunrise paint the snow pink and gold. He kept the paths clear for visitors and always wore his warmest smile. The villagers loved their snowman guardian. "Good morning, Frostel!" called Tommy, zooming past on his sled. "Morning!" Frostel waved his stick arm. As Tommy disappeared down the hill, something tiny caught Frostel's eye. There, half-buried in the snow near his base, lay a single pine seed. It must have fallen from the old tree before the storm!