At the bottom of the valley, the log waits for them to come. He has been waiting for this day ever since the first chill of the year came careening down the valley. It is about this time of year, when the river has become too icy for bathing, that they always arrive, a swarm of them with maddening grins frozen on their tiny faces. They come to chop down the first log they can find: his brother, his sister, or his friend. After the cries have ceased, they lug their prize back to their village where chimneys cough up the captured, so that all winter long the dead blanket the sky.
This is a pre-order with figures not expected until JUNE/JULY 2016