Higher and Higher

The water, at first, had been a ticklish ankle-deep sort of thing, a playful splash against the Gingerbread Man’s sturdy legs. He’d felt quite pleased with himself, a brave adventurer navigating the glistening, rippling expanse. The fox, a sly, smiling creature with eyes like polished amber, had been so very kind, offering his broad back as a ferry. “You’re doing splendidly, little fellow!” the fox had crooned, his voice a silken murmur against the gentle lapping of the river. “But it’s getting a bit deep now, isn’t it? Wouldn’t want you to catch a chill. Hop onto my nose, right on top, and you’ll be as dry as a biscuit.”

And so, with a little hop and a skip, the Gingerbread Man had obliged. He’d felt a thrill of accomplishment as he’d scrambled onto the smooth, cool bridge of the fox’s nose. From this new vantage point, the world seemed to stretch out even further, the green banks a distant promise. He could see the reeds swaying and hear the happy chirping of unseen birds. He felt a surge of pride, a warm glow that had nothing to do with the oven he’d so recently escaped. He was outsmarting the river, he was outsmarting the world, and he was doing it with the help of a friendly fox!

He giggled, a sound like the rustle of dry leaves. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Fox! You are the very best sort of friend! I do believe I’m getting a little damp, though. My icing might start to run!” He wiggled his arms, feeling the slight dampness on his gingerbread limbs. The fox’s fur, so close beneath him, felt soft and warm. He took a deep, happy breath, the scent of pine and damp earth filling his gingerbread lungs. He was so very close to the other side now. He could almost taste the freedom.