Three. Rather a lot, really.

And so it became eight Christmas's saved, six ruined, and three during which I was celebrating a different holiday altogether.

Thus in those days it came to pass that Oren, who once accidentally bathed in the blood of a virgin while taking a bath in a river two miles downstream from where little Llianril was swimming, was knighted in the squalms* of Canada.

The Protestants were fearful of the soot-blackened knight, and let him ride through carrying a peasant on his elfish shoulder -- really more suited to carry an elegant cloth or something.

*calm squabbles