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Cinnamon's Story

Once upon a time, there was a fox named Cinnamon. Like most foxes he dreamed of becoming a hero. Most of them see the folly of this as they become older and take up mundane jobs, such as merchant, civil servant, innkeeper or the king's advisor, and left the heroics to the sturdier races, such as wolves and the large cats, who allegedly thought that foxes were too feminine a race for such work. Cinnamon, however, had never lost his fancies and dreamed of the time when he could leave his stagnant home village and his obstinate family members, who continuously attempted to make him accept their way of life.

"Cinnamon! ... Oh, there you are, you mischievous thing. I still remember when you were just a little cub and you ... ooh, Cinnamonny honey, you look wonderful in that new toga! I bet you'll charm every vixen in town with it."

"Auntie, please! This is not a new toga and you already said that twice over the last few days. Besides, I would rather wear a simpler outfit like they do in the big city."

"But honey, you look much better this way than with that so-called fashion that they have in the cities. Trust your auntie, no vixen would lay eyes upon you with that!"

"No vixen wants to lay eyes upon me anyway! They rather want the muscular wolves, coyotes and jackals that visit our town and aren't afraid of a bit of travelling throughout the world!"

"Young man, you know very well that this adventure stuff is not for us foxes. Why, before you know it you would be robbed and ... yes, robbed. Besides, vixens do like a son of a rich merchant better than any rowdy adventurer. Perhaps I should ask your father to arrange a meeting between you and the daughter of our neighbours. It would be so romantic don't you think, darling?"

"Sure, auntie", were Cinnamon's last words before he departed his aunt's house at a rapid pace. On days such as this he couldn't bear to stay and do his chores. He decided to go to his favourite - and only - tavern of the town, even if it would mean being chewed out by his parents later.

On the way, a group of coyotes going in the other direction passed Cinnamon closely, too close for comfort. Tourists who think they own the place, he thought.

A sudden pat on his rump interrupted his thoughts and made him utter a high-pitched yelp. He turned around to find a muscular coyote towering over him, who now said: "Wanna have dinner with me, sweetie?"

"What, you want a date with me? I'm not gay you know."

Startled, the coyote moved backwards a few paces. "You're a ... He's a goddamn guy! He's goddamn fooling me!", he blurted while his buddies burst out laughing.

Cinnamon replied: "You know, you could have sniffed me before making a fool out of yourself."

"You foxes stink! Now get lost and stay lost or I'll turn you into a she-fox!"

"Vixen!" Cinnamon growled.

"Get!" the coyote exclaimed with a snarl that would have moved the tail of even the bravest of foxes between their legs.

"Bloody tourists," Cinnamon mumbled under his breath and continued on his way to the tavern in a mood as heavy as catapult ammunition.

Cinnamon, after this ordeal, reached the tavern where he had a large draught of beer. As the evening approached his good friend Pepper joined him. Nothing of this could lift his dark mood however, which led to the following occurrence.

The weary group of soldiers had barely managed to hold back the enemy. But behold, the general had emerged with reinforcements to slay the opposing forces! Slowly but skilfully the army surrounded the enemy and prepared to execute its bloodthirsty plans.

Yet a scout had noticed movements of troops behind their own. It was they who'd been surrounded now! The general decided to sacrifice this part of his army and escape the onslaught. He had not been defeated yet!

Up north he fortified his stronghold with an army the size of which was thought to be fictional since most people could simply not count that far. The rage of the black army was now released upon the east. Ferociously they fought and many a prisoner of war they took, until it seemed inevitable that a glorious victory lay ahead.

Nothing could be further from the truth. In his foolishness and absentmindedness the general had taken no notice of the cruel fate that his advance scouts had suffered. The since long desultory scout parties had been captured by the enemy with cold efficiency. Now, the enemy forces were steadily advancing and suffocating the black army from two sides.

A sleeping stronghold of the black army that had survived against all odds in the far south now awoke and fought bravely with the knights in white, but to no avail. It was a matter of time before the enemy took hold of all the land. Yet even with his army shattered the black general stubbornly refused to raise the white flag.

"Come on, Cin, don't be cubbish. You lost for once. That happens. It's just a game, you know."

With a sudden swipe of his paw Cinnamon threw the board off the table, sending stones flying throughout the tavern. He snarled, "That's the whole bloody problem!"

Pepper's black face turned from large-eyed surprise to low-eared anger: "What's the matter with you? Damn it, if you can't take losing for once then don't play. You're a really sore loser, you know that?"

Instead of answering Cinnamon hung his head, with eyes looking as if tears might flow out at any moment. Pepper looked away and said nothing for several minutes. Then, in a calmer voice, he continued: "Look, perhaps it's better if you go out for a long walk in the surroundings; walk away your bad mood and think things over. I usually go walk around the vineyards; it really helps."

"Been there, done that," Cinnamon mumbled, "I want to go further and have adventures and ... and do things in the name of good! But my whole family says I have responsibilities here and won't let me go away from this pathetic town. I've had enough of it. Nothing ever happens here."

"That's not completely true, you know. Haven't you heard?", Pepper said, determined to talk these fancies out of his friend's head, "Some tourist coyote was harassing Basil. You know, that dreamy fellow. Story goes that the coyote kissed him full on his muzzle! But when Basil started talking, the coyote went berserk: he just started bashing him, yelling incoherent things like 'Goddamn fox sissies fooling me!' It took the sheriff and three bystanders to overpower him. Poor Basil; he'll have some explaining to do to his parents. Once he can talk again that is."

"Oh great", was Cinnamon's level-voiced answer, contrary to Pepper's expectation.

"Okay, how about this: my brother often travels to Wolfhome with his cart. You could go with him tomorrow and look around there. I hear they have an impressive castle there. Maybe they'd even give you something to do there if you'd asked. You can usually find my brother and his cart near the town gate. His name is Salt."

"Don't you think", said Cinnamon before Pepper could continue, "that our names are rather convenient?"

"Huh, what do you mean?"

"We're all named after spices. It's a rather dull naming scheme if you ask me."

"Why? Most families here are spice merchants or farmers, including yours and mine", replied Pepper, impatient with his friend's capriciousness, "Besides, I think my name is rather suitable for a silver fox like me. Salt works for my brother as well; he's got a much lighter silver phase. Even your sandy fur colour is rather cinnamonny. It fits, doesn't it?"

"It fits a bit too well don't you think." Cinnamon made it sound more like a statement than a question.

"Look, do you still want that ride to Wolfhome?"

"Oh yes, certainly!" Cinnamon exclaimed. His tail was wagging now that he fully realized what was offered to him.

"Okay, then I'll tell Salt to wait for you tomorrow. I'll also tell him to give you a good travelling outfit. It's probably better if you don't go in your current guise. By the way, do you have a weapon?"

"I have a bit of foil training."

"Hmm. Oh well, the road is usually safe. Though you never know with robbers. And Cin," Pepper added in an almost anxious voice, "please stay close to Salt, okay? You need to be with him when he goes back."

Cinnamon couldn't help smiling at his friend's concerns, "Sure, daddy!"

"You mangy little dog!" Pepper exclaimed as he feigned a nip at Cinnamon's throat, and soon they were both rolling over the floor in mock battle.

Thus it was decided. Cinnamon returned back home where he was chewed out by his parents for missing dinner and was sent directly to bed so that he might do extra chores tomorrow. Our furtive hero had no such plans however. He slipped quietly out of bed before his parents woke and skulked through town to meet up with his travelling companion, Salt. They departed on an uneventful and, in Cinnamon's opinion, unadventurous journey that swiftly delivered them at the gates of old, stalwart Wolfhome. After a short inspection of the cargo they were let in. Salt drove the cart to the busy marketplace where he parked and commenced unloading.

"Cinnamon! ... Hey, Cinnamon!"

Cinnamon pulled his gaze away from the vast stronghold looming protectively over the city. He had never seen a castle in his life. In stories he had heard about their beauty, their radiant power and yet, Wolfhome Keep exceeded his wildest fantasies.

He turned to Salt who presently said: "Don't gape at the castle. Just go there! I'll be busy unloading for a while. But be back at sunset. We'll take residence at an inn here."

"Sure. Thanks for the ride!", Cinnamon answered, having not the slightest intention of returning; not this close to fulfilling his dreams of becoming an adventurer.

"No problem.", said Salt as he turned to his cargo.

Cinnamon made his way through the crowds of the city's population; wolves mostly, and cheetahs, panthers, coyotes, jackals, badgers, cats, stoats and raccoons; these were present in the streets of busy Wolfhome. All of these species packed together produced a pungent - though not unpleasant - smell.

Eventually Cinnamon reached the path leading up to the keep. He ascended it. As he reached the final curve of the spiralling path he looked with awe at the majestic castle gate in front of him. Though, as he surveyed all of the castle, he noticed a part that was not quite so majestic: a wall lay collapsed in bricks and rubble with the remainders of it hanging limply from the towers like torn flesh, revealing, as it were, a gaping wound in the proud castle. Presently scaffolds were being erected and rubble was being loaded on carts to initiate the slow process of healing.

While Cinnamon stood gaping at this scene a knight departed from the gate, riding a majestic steed and wearing shiny plate armour. As the knight - who appeared to be a wolf - approached and halted in front of him, Cinnamon mustered all his eloquence and said to the towering figure: "Hail, my lord! I have come from lands afar to assist thee in dire times! Woe to thine enemies whose foolishness hath drove them to attack thy valiant stronghold. May steel and courage bring these heedless barbarians to justice."

"Beat it, kid!" the wolf replied with half-bared fangs, "The wall collapsed because the bloody rains of late made the ground under the wall soggy. It killed two of our finest warriors as well. So we can't use your thieving kind here. Not ever and especially not now!"

Cinnamon blinked at this unexpected reply but recovered quickly and continued, albeit with less eloquence: "I'm not a thief..."

"Oh, sure you aren't!" the wolf interjected.

"Really! Not all foxes steal. Some of us have never stolen anything! But ... what I wanted to say is ... please train me as a knight! You need some new warriors now, don't you? You ... you won't regret choosing me. Perhaps I'll become a hero of the realm one day!"

The wolf thrust his muzzle up in the air, laughing loudly, "So you want to become a hero, eh? Well, it just so happens that I'm empowered to select new recruits; after they pass a little test, that is. Let's see if you can become the first foxy knight among the large races. Here, fetch!"

The knight threw a wooden sword in a too-wide arc over Cinnamon. When Cinnamon had fetched it the wolf had already dismounted and was standing en garde. Cinnamon approached timidly with raised sword, but before he even thought about striking, the wolf, in a lightning-fast motion, kicked the sword out of the fox's hands with an iron-plated boot and pushed his own training sword into Cinnamon's belly.

When Cinnamon had stopped coughing the wolf helped him up from the ground and dusted off his fur, "There, wouldn't want you to have a dirty fur coat. I'm afraid though that your little test didn't quite succeed as you are - how shall I put it - somewhat muscle-impaired. Of course, I could give you a retry but I have the feeling that it might be waste of energy for both of us."

The knight mounted his steed again and, while passing our sad and beaten hero, said: "Why don't you try the magicians' guild, kid? You won't become a warrior but as a mage - even though they often have to hide behind us warriors with tails between their legs - you can do freaky mind stuff to get rid of our foes."

Pain engulfed Cinnamon as he was thrown backwards into the wall by a sparkling bolt that was hugging his belly. When the pain had lifted and the bolt vanished, the wizard - a mostly grey-furred cat - helped him up. "Why didn't you block that, sonny? Any infant that has studied the basic material can block that. Who was your instructor?"

Cinnamon stood up, dusted off his fur himself this time, and replied carefully, barely managing to keep calm: "I never had an instructor. Please teach me as much as you can from the beginning."

The wizard sighed. "You're supposed to have been digging into books and training your abilities since early cubhood to become a full-scale magician. Even if you would start now you'd only come as far as petty tricks such as summoning a small flame - and it would take you a dozen years at that!"

"That's unfair! How was I supposed to know that back then!" Cinnamon shouted and advanced towards the wizard but, after a quick gesture from the wizard, he found that he was frozen in his current pose.

"Patience, my son, is what magicians need to have - and patience is what foxes obviously don't have!" the wizard said to the paralysed figure of Cinnamon, "I honestly recommend you to join the thieves' guild. Foxes don't have to learn many extra skills for that ... oh, and if you decide to do so, remember that you can't steal from magicians."

With that the wizard opened the door and released Cinnamon from his charm. Cinnamon, though furious at the wizard, knew better than to argue any more and, with lowered ears, walked out of the magicians' guild to which he had sped directly from the castle just minutes ago.

Dejectedly, Cinnamon walked through the marketplace, letting himself drift along with the crowds without purpose or destination. When he cared to look up again, he found that chance had brought him in front of the city's cathedral. A white-clad badger - apparently a priest - was busy closing up the cathedral for the day. For a moment a wave of irresolution came over Cinnamon - perhaps he should just give up; after all, a clerical profession might not really fit him. - but then he perked up his ears again and, just before the priests closed the large cathedral doors, Cinnamon hailed the priest: "Please, let me be your apprentice! I want to learn how to help people everywhere in the world and guide them and hold pilgrimages ... or what about training me as a missionary?"

The look on the priest's face was not one that Cinnamon had expected: a face of pure shock. "Oh no, you don't!" he cried, "I know your kind; after a few weeks you'll be gone again and so will most of my cathedral's valuables! Moreover, have you heard about celibacy at all? That's something every cleric needs to be and foxes, with nothing but vixens on their minds, are most certainly not. I will not have my cathedral desecrated by that. Go to the thieves' guild where you belong. Good bye!"

The priest slammed the cathedral doors shut with Cinnamon barely able to remove his paws before the doors would crush them. Cinnamon left the cathedral again in a dark mood, not even caring to shout his opinion anymore. As a distraction he started eating the grapes he had bought on the market. Instantly he spit out the first one though, and grimaced: they were sour.

Nightfall came and darkness settled upon Wolfhome. Cinnamon roved aimlessly through its rapidly emptying streets like a ghost cursed to walk forever. Suddenly he perked his ears as they caught a familiar sound. It was Salt calling out for him, coming from straight ahead. Without thinking Cinnamon strode into a dark and small alley to his right. Though he knew of no way to become a hero now, his pride kept him from facing Salt and admitting his defeat.

"Cin! ... Cin! ... Where are you, you mutt? We need to take residence at the inn right now!" Salt's voice droned past the entrance of the alley. Cinnamon hugged the darkness of the alley closely and waited for Salt's voice to disappear in the distance.

The sudden feeling of a cold metal object on his neck made the hairs around it rise. A sinister voice came from the darkness: "Stay calm and hand o'er yer valuables, buddy, and no harm will come to ya's."

The owner of the voice - a raccoon - stepped out of the darkness and peered closely at Cinnamon, the expression on his face betraying that he rather disliked what he saw. "Aw, heck!" the raccoon exclaimed. "Ya can lower the knife, Robby. We been catchin' us a fox. Ya know," the raccoon turned his head back to Cinnamon, "we been standing here for a week and all we catch is one of our own. You, of all fuckin' people! Ya foxes been taking o'er the best spots in all Wolfhome with yer superior thievin' skills. What're we s'posed ta do now, eh? Go beggin' on tha marketplace? If it ain't for the damn thieves' code I would'a stripped ya's bare to the bone by now for invadin' our place. C'mon Robby, les' find us a spot tha's not infested with them foxes ... if un' still exists!"

With that, the raccoon turned and walked away. Cinnamon felt the knife on his neck being lowered and watched as the raccoon named Robby followed the other out of the alley, looking back at Cinnamon with an expression of deep disgust. He could still hear the voice of the other raccoon echoing through the streets and slowly fading: "Mark my words, Robby, one day I will beat them goddamn foxes; or else my name ain't Sly!"

At first Cinnamon was too flabbergasted too move. Slowly though, an unstoppable rage boiled up in him and, when the thieves were long since gone, he exploded: "A thief, huh? So you want me to be a thief! You all want me to be a goddamn thief! ... Well, then I'll be a thief. A good thief! One who steals from the rich and gives to the people who want to make a different existence than what their race has preordained them to! I will fund magician's guilds of wolves, fighters' guilds of badgers and a clergy of foxes! I will show the world ... yelp!"

What Cinnamon was going to show the world was cut off by the sudden impact of a boot to his head, followed by a snarl from out of the window whence the boot had originated: "Shaddap! There's people wanna sleep here! Go bark atta moon some other place, ya drunken moron!"

Whimpering, tail between his legs, Cinnamon shambled out of the alley to find a place to sleep.

Our poor and mistreated hero shuffled through the streets of Wolfhome until he had found a suitable inn to stay. Used to luxury, and not wishing to sleep in a rowdy place, Cinnamon selected an expensive inn, hoping that Salt had not made the same choice. In the morning he had found back all of his determination, with not a shred of doubt remaining. After a hearty breakfast, Cinnamon set out to buy the necessary equipment for his newly found trade with the last of his money, cursing himself for having squandered most of it on unnecessary luxury.

"I would recommend an archery combo-kit. Those are all-in-one packages with bow, strings, quiver and arrows and are cheaper than buying all parts separately. Plus, you have the added benefit that the parts in a combo-kit have been carefully picked out to match each other seamlessly.

"Since you're just starting, I'd recommend this beginner's set, also called the Robin Hood set. It's a very favourable combo-kit with a bow half as large as normal so that you can get used to drawing a bow in your own tempo, and yes, I know that you're thinking now that it can't be much stronger than a toy bow but believe me, this little thing has an amazing punch behind it. Not only does it almost aim by itself but it also hits the target with a force that you would only expect from a normal-sized bow. In fact, this bow is superior to many low-quality longbows! Many archery aces have depended on this same bow, and not in the least the legendary Robin Hood himself.

"Together with the bow you get a comfortable quiver with back strap, filled with ten Zephyr class arrows. Moreover, as a special monthly offer you get an archer's outfit with it for free! It's an exact replica of the apparel that Robin Hood wore during his exile. You can fit it here if you like. Dressing rooms are in the back."

Cinnamon felt dazed by the amount of information the sales clerk of Ye Olde Adventurer's Shoppe had given him. He let it work in on him for a moment and asked: "How much do I pay for that all?"

"The whole combo-kit sells for the amazingly low price of only four silver pieces."

Cinnamon pondered. That was all the money he had left in his pouch. "I take it that the larger bows are all more expensive?"

"All the combo-kits in any case. You could in principle buy a larger bow separately for less than four silver, but I must warn you that you'll get both less quality and less quantity for your money that way."

Cinnamon nodded, "Alright, I'll try this outfit then."

Yes, Cinnamon thought as he looked at himself from different angles in the mirror, this green tunic looks really nice - contrasts nicely with my fur - and the fancy feathered hat makes it look rather nifty. Now, just for the missing part.

Cinnamon pushed aside the curtain of the dressing cabin's entrance and called out to the sales clerk: "Could I have the trousers that come with the outfit as well?"

"Trousers?", the clerk replied as he walked towards Cinnamon, "The set doesn't come with trousers. Robin Hood didn't wear them either. It shouldn't be a problem, should it? The fur on your legs will keep you warm enough."

"That is not the problem." Cinnamon felt the skin around his muzzle becoming warm. "The problem is about ... decency."

The clerk moved his gaze downwards. "Oh, I see. The lower flap of the tunic is a bit too short, isn't it? Fancy that. You're not that much taller than Robin was. Unfortunately the kit was made on a one-size-fits-all basis. I could let a tailor make it one size bigger, but since tailoring service is not included in the kit it would cost one extra silver."

Cinnamon shook his head forlornly. His money was all but spent.

"Well, if you keep that flap properly down then no one will notice anything. Just take care to keep your tail down and not stretch too much, then all will be fine. One thing's for sure though," the cleric added with a wink, "the vixens will adore you with this."

Cinnamon wagged his tail at the prospect but then quickly lowered it again all the way between his legs in embarrassment.

The clerk smiled, "A bit of practice at home might be in order. So, you'll be taking this then?"

"Sure will!"

Now, in possession of the appropriate equipment, Cinnamon left Ye Olde Adventurer's Shoppe and walked out of the city, following the main road to the point where it ran through a thick forest. There, he carefully hid himself from the road in the undergrowth of the woods, waiting for his first victim to come. Not long after, he heard the exhilarating sounds of an approaching coach.

Cinnamon ran from his cover and into the street as the coach was almost upon him. He readied an arrow, pulled the string taut and pointed his bow, shouting: "Stop, or I'll shoot!"

The coach driver barely managed to stop in time, the animals only inches away from Cinnamon. Shaking from adrenaline rush, Cinnamon slowly shuffled to the side of the coach, now aiming his bow at its window. Inside, he saw a richly dressed female of a large cat species. Which, Cinnamon couldn't determine yet, nor did it matter to him at that very moment. Straining to keep his voice under control, he addressed her: "Your money or your life, lady."

"Oh darling, look! It's a fox robber. How droll! Do you think it's real, darling?" she said, obviously not in reply to Cinnamon's demand.

"No, honey," a male voice came from beside her, "look at his costume. He's obviously a member of a wandering theatre group. I'd bet my whole fortune that His Lordship has sent them out to humour us!"

"How lovely of him! Oh darling, come and see this." Her voice dropped to a whisper in the manner of a girl who's just discovered a new naughtiness of the boy next door and telling all her friends about it, "I think he's a boy fox."

Cinnamon had heard it - and noticed her downwards stare - very well. He felt the blood rising to his face and - in lightning motion - he lowered the bow, pulled the flap of his tunic down and raised the bow again, crouching a little to keep the flap where it belonged. "Look, this is serious! If you don't give me your money, I'll really shoot!"

Laughter.

"How exquisite!" the male managed while still shaking with mirth, "But now we must speed on, dear chap. We are late as it is. We will tell His Lordship about the marvellous parody you did of him. I'm sure it'll amuse him like nothing else! Good bye, and our gratitude for your brilliant performance!"

That said, the coach vanished, leaving Cinnamon in a cloud of whirling dust. Not for the first time he stood completely flabbergasted. Moments later, he threw his bow on the street, its rotten wood splintering in all directions. He knew what to do, now more than ever. Resolutely he loped through the forest back from whence he came, to meet his new destiny.

And meet his new destiny he did; even sooner than he had expected. Commotion coming from the woods led our inquisitive hero deeper into them, only to end in confrontation with someone he had encountered before.

The coyote lifted a gagged vixen by the scruff and gave her a wet, drooling lick over her muzzle, his equally drooling buddies watching intently. When the vixen tried to struggle free from him, the coyote pulled her arms behind her back, sneering: "I told you not to struggle, sweetie. Now I'll just have to tie you up," and promptly he turned his words into action.

Cinnamon stood with trembling knees at the edge of the clearing in what he thought was adequate cover. He dearly wanted to rescue the vixen more than anything else he had ever wanted before; if only he could think of a way. Nothing came to mind though, and - teeth-grindingly - he just watched as the coyote bound her and prepared her for a long afternoon of savage fun. Fate however, as if tired by his wave of indecision, decided to come to him instead.

As the coyote bent over, about to bite the vixen's scruff, one of his buddies patted him and pointed at Cinnamon. "Look there! Ain't that the fox you promised to beat up when we met him again?"

The coyote looked up, growling, "Why, indeed it is; our faggot foxy, and a dirty voyeur now as well. I'll be glad to fulfil my promise two times over. Get him!"

The last shout set Cinnamon running as effectively as a starting shot would have done. The coyotes followed him in close pursuit as Cinnamon was leading them through the forest into increasingly dense underbrush. Finally, it became so thick that they lost sight of Cinnamon.

"Don't lose him! He can't be far!"

"Can't spot him anymore, boss."

"Then track him down damn it! Use your goddamn nose!"

"Over here!" At this the other coyotes came running. "He's in this clearing. Look there, he's hiding behind that rock. The bugger's tail's sticking out."

Indeed, sticking out from behind a large rock a fox's tail was very visible, flicking back and forth as if its owner was rather agitated. The coyotes wasted no time and sped towards it. The boss coyote grabbed for the tail but it flicked away just in time, leaving him without so much as a strand of fur in his claws. He turned around to run in the opposite direction around the stone but was surprised by Cinnamon materializing from around the corner. Using the stone as a pivot to swing his legs into the coyote's chest with maximum force, Cinnamon sent the coyote sprawling backwards grabbing for his buddies, but achieving nothing more than to drag them down with him over the edge and into the sheer chasm behind the stone.

Cinnamon wasted no time returning to where the vixen still lay bound, gagged and writhing furiously. When he had untied the bounds he was rewarded with a slap across his muzzle that sent him reeling. His head was ringing and he felt the heat on his muzzle where the vixen had hit him. "Why'd you do that? I rescued you!" he yelped.

"This is the fourth time I'm rescued and let me tell you that it was the worst rescue by far!" the vixen replied when she had ungagged herself, "What were you doing when that idiot coyote bound me and gave me that disgusting lick? Just standing there! I thought you'd piss in your pants, 'cept you ain't have any!"

The vixen turned away from him and started licking herself clean. Cinnamon became at once acutely aware that she wasn't wearing any pants either, nor any other garment for that matter. He watched as she cleaned herself, unable to turn away his gaze.

Cinnamon almost jumped as she suddenly spoke again: "So, you ready?"

Unsteadily he asked: "Ready ... for what?"

The vixen let out a long sigh. "Look. You're a fox. You're supposed to know all these things. Oh, just my luck to encounter a total beginner ... Still," she added while shifting her gaze up and down over his body, "I guess it could've been worse."

Confusion slowly transformed into awareness when Cinnamon noticed that something else than his tail was pushing up the flap of his tunic. For the first time this day he was glad about his less-than-decent attire.

He approached her slowly, put his arms over her shoulders and kissed her passionately, while gently lowering the both of them to the soft forest ground, hidden from sight in the privacy of the woods -

- except from the eyes of a wandering theatre group that had set up camp behind the next row of trees. They had been ordered by the local lord, His Lordship Robin of Loxley, to entertain special guests travelling to his estates by coach. They decided however that - just for once - it was their turn to attend a show as they huddled to watch the fox and the vixen in their play.

And so our hero had found his new destiny. He joined the thieves' guild in Wolfhome and had soon earned a high position in its ranks. His happiness knew no bounds. It seemed folly to him now to ever have wanted another life. He robbed the vaults of nobles and rescued vixens galore until, one day, he set out on the greatest endeavour in the history of thievery: to steal the king's crown!

Cinnamon sat on the throne. Not exactly on the king's throne, but on the highest and largest chair in the thieves' den. Raised on a dais, it sure felt like a throne. Hanging from his neck and wrapped around his arms and fingers were jewelled necklaces, bracelets of silver and rings of gold. And, resting lopsidedly on his head, rested the golden crown, reflecting even the dimmest ray of light in the dark dwellings of the thieves' guild.

He had done it!

As he sat on his throne, one hand over the back of the king's head maid, hugging her tightly to him, the other hand clutching a goblet which he now raised high in a toast to the other thieves who, in return, raised their goblets and shouted "Long Live The King of Thieves!", Cinnamon felt intensely happy.

The sound of the front door slamming open instantly muted all sound from the thieves' den. The shape of an old fox, silhouetted by the darkness of the den, walked forwards, slowly. The thieves drew back, each fondling the weapon hidden under their clothes, carefully watching the approaching figure, until Cinnamon raised his voice: "Old man, what business brings you to the den of thieves? Speak up, and you may yet live."

"Cinnamon?" the shape uttered with the creaking voice of an old vixen, one that Cinnamon knew all too well, "So here you are, you mischievous brat! I searched all over Wolfhome for you and now look where I find you: here, sharing this unhygienic, run-down house with these troublemakers. I can tell that they've had a bad influence on you. I'll take you home at once, where you belong!"

"Aw auntie, you can't do that," whimpered Cinnamon with lowered ears, "I was just having so much fun."

"Silence! While you were having 'fun' your parents worried sick about you, thinking something might have happened to you. And not to talk about poor Pepper and Salt who repeated over and over that they shouldn't have sent you off to Wolfhome. They at least learned their lesson. Now I will personally take care that you will, too. Step aside please, miss."

With that she helped the maid off Cinnamon's lap and dragged him out by one of his ears, Cinnamon whimpering as she did so.

And that was the last anybody in Wolfhome saw of the one who had been King of Thieves for five minutes. Over the years, rumours spread of the terrible things that his evil aunt might have done to him. Other rumours had it that he had successfully escaped her and now lived his life in the underworld, so secretly that even his aunt couldn't find him. Later a third alternative, though generally the one least believed, told that Cinnamon had taken up honest work and became a respected member of society. "How un-foxy!" people would reply in distaste.

Cinnamon's Story © Lazyfox, 2005

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