The fox savoured the sweet taste of gingerbread on his tongue. Idiot! He thought. Fancy trusting me to carry you across the river. He lay by the campfire, drying his fur and spat out one of the gingerbread man’s sultana eyes into the flames. His stomach stretched, replete.
A stick snapped in the bushes behind him. The fox was too slow to avoid the sharpened axe. The woodcutter took out his filleting knife. “On the menu tonight, fox with gingerbread stuffing. Delicious!” He continued, his fingers slick with vulpine blood, unaware he was being watched by a ravenous Papa bear.
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alt="The Last Leprechaun by Dakria"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
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loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Harbinger of Death by Jonathan L. Tolstedt"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
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height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Famine Man by Deborah Tapper"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>