Crossing the Water

The gingerbread man, his sugary smile gleaming, felt a thrill of pride as the fox nodded approvingly. “You are a very brave little fellow,” the fox had said, his voice like rustling leaves. “And a very tasty one, I imagine.” The gingerbread man, however, only heard the praise. He was so focused on the adventure, on the freedom of the open road and the wind in his frosting hair, that the subtle glint in the fox’s eye passed him by.

“Now, if you’d like to get to the other side of this river,” the fox continued, gesturing with his snout towards the wide, shimmering water, “I’d be happy to give you a ride. Hop onto my back, little one. I’ll carry you across.”

It was a tempting offer. The river looked wide and deep, and the gingerbread man, despite his speedy legs, wasn’t a swimmer. He’d heard the splashing of fish, the gurgling of the current, and it all sounded a bit… wet. He trusted the fox. After all, the fox had been so polite, so understanding of his desire for freedom. He hadn’t tried to snatch him, hadn't even looked particularly hungry. Just a friendly, helpful fox.