A little quicky short story. It was intended to be an entry to an online quarterly competition (which will remain nameless), although it was disqualified at the 11th hour.

To qualify my own work/standards: This *is* quite literally a fractured *fairy* *tale*, with superstitious background, rooted in actual events with actual people. It has a significant change, whereby the explanation of said tale is given in an entirely different way and from a different viewpoint. The only difference being that it is grounded in both fact *and* fiction. But there we go! No gripes with the website's owner. No big deal.

So here we are guys. For your enjoyment. A mad fox, a paranoid elf, and a suspiciously Father-Jack-type Badger (for all you Father Ted fans). Just a bit of fun.

Will be having a splurge on writing the erotic anthro stuff before Xmas. The aim is to have at least 3 of the 10 I have planned up on here by Xmas Day!

Comments gratefully received as always

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The navy black of night did little to disguise the musky waft that was growing ever stronger. Ignis just kept on pacing up and down, his Lincoln green cloak and feathered cap greyed in the dusk, crossed by the sway of the staunch oaks that lined the river. He knew who it was; and he really wasn’t in the mood. The rustle of fur through vegetation was followed by the crunchy splash of paws creeping slyly towards him. A dark shadow loomed larger and larger out of the lea, passing in and out of the moon before coming to a grinning pant just behind the elf.

“You really are rubbish at stealth!” Ignis folded his arms, facing upstream and tapping his right foot on the green, waxy pad, almost as though impatient.
“Awwwwww” That creeping silhouette drooped, with two broad ears folding backwards, before the voice stepped out of the darkness, “but… but… don’t you think I’m getting better?”

The bright, yellow eyes of a male fox looked down at the tiny, winged elf, that dark red muzzle pouting in as cute a manner as he could manage.

“Caxton, mate. You’re every secret service’s dream.” Ignis caressed the wet black nose of the fox.
“Really?!” Ears went up and eyes widened with excitement.
“No.”

The elf shook his head with a smile, before paddling a hand into the freezing water and sailing his little vessel to the bank of the course. Supping from the glassy globe of a rush’s dewdrop, he sat back, cross-legged in the centre of the leaf.

“You OK? You don’t seem very happy.” The fox retired to the bank and sat in the cool, compact mud, looking down at his tiny companion.
“It’s just that thing with the human kids. It’s still on my mind.” That pale face shone away in a vacant stare.
“Oh come on, Iggy, that was ages ago. And besides, yours truly took care of that. I made sure they couldn’t see you.”
“Yeah I guess.”
“Don’t you…. trust me.” Caxton leant down and grinned, bearing a full set of saliva-wet teeth.
“No.”
“Oh for the love of… they didn’t see you OK?”
“I stuck a middle finger up at one of those girls, Caxton. I ran naked in one shot, I …”
“Everything will be fine.” The fox leant down and prodded his cold, wet nose against the elf’s shoulder.
“And what if it has. What if that machine has stolen our soul and secret, and…”
“Ignis!”
“Sorry.”

All the hissed commotion had brought out moving shadows amidst the reeds and the
hanging vegetation; soft wisps of white light, shifting through the midnight air. Streams of yellow light folded through the freezing air, vapour trails of golden whey and wheat colours that shimmered like sparklers. Caxton was mesmerised by it all, as a speck of light landed right on the bridge of his muzzle, his eyes crossing and concentrating on this spectacle of bright night light.

“Well hello there.” A soft voice whispered, the glow fading and compacting to reveal the form of a lithe female fairy dressed in long white.
“H…hi” Caxton stuttered, taken by her beauty.
“You boys behaving yourselves?” A tiny flesh-pink finger traced down the fox’s sensitive muzzle.

The fox just nodded briskly with a boyish smile and panting tongue, catching the fairy off-guard and flinging her off into the cold water. Ignis flinched with the splash, as the fairy stood there drenched and decidedly put-out.

Caxton just went red, proffering a paw down to offer her a dry journey to the nearest leaf.

“Sorry.” The fox managed an apology whilst snickering under his breath.
“Men! My god you are clumsy sons of…”
“Whoa, Mab.” Ignis stood up and implored, “We have guests! Here, and due. Remember?”

The female fairy sighed deeply, before painting on another smile and fluttering off to join a swathe of light that hovered on the opposite bank.

“Guests?” Caxton leant down with his query, wondering to whom Ignis was referring.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“The thing with the human children? The thing with the picture machine?”

The fox leant back up and went quiet. He wasn’t sure whether he liked the sounds of this. Ignis on the other hand, was taken with the seemingly chatty disorganisation of the female fairies on the opposite side of the water.

“Ladies! Come on! Let’s go one more time.” The elf stood in his finery, proud on the perfectly circular lily, directing each glow of light to appear in a perfect row, “Are we ready? OK ladies… Charleston! Charleston, everybody Charleston!”

Caxton couldn’t help but giggle as he watched this strange orchestra, the glow of white lights skipping and dancing perfectly in time to Ignis’s rhythm. The fox sat back on his haunches and clapped his paws to the beat. It was a human dance apparently; the fairies had learnt it from the girls who lived at the house nearby. It was one of, if the only thing, that they’d gained from being in the humans’ presence.

“Keep it up ladies…. Charleston, Charleston! Caxton?” Ignis turned to his friend who was giggling inanely, “Caxton?”
“Hmmm?”
“Take this.” The elf handed him a tiny bunch of wild spearmint leaves.
“Oh Ignis how did you know? Mint. My favourite!”
“Knock it off, fluff brain! It’s not for you.”
“Ummm… thanks? I guess.” Caxton was all rather confused.
“This is why you’re no good at stealth. Can’t you smell that?” Ignis held a hand to the air, pointing vaguely downstream.

The fox sniffed desperately to try and look a little more learned on a subject he should’ve already mastered.

“Look, no matter. Just when he does come, stuff this in his muzzle for heaven’s sake. You’re the only one big enough.”
“When who comes? Big enough? Muzzle?”
“Just do it!” Ignis turned back to his dancers, still exhausting themselves for the entertainment of their arrivals.

He literally was just around the corner, where the stream turned around the fields and out towards the river. Nothing but that sulphurous, satanic smell heralded his arrival, a thick, tarry black canine shape floating upstream from the rocky corners, a bright glowing set of eyes picking him out against the night. His vessel was like a bowl, sparkling silver in the moonlight, glinting like the teeth he bore as he drew ever closer.

“Heeeeeeeey guys! How’s….”
“Now Caxton!” Ignis hissed, covering his nose with his hand as the smell of the dog’s breath pervaded.

The fox leapt out of the grassy bank and, balancing on the dog’s strange little boat, stuffed the mint bunch between his dripping jaws. Smiling sheepishly as a stare of confusion reigned over the new arrival’s muzzle, Caxton gently opened and closed the dog’s powerful jaws with his right paw.

“Now chew. There’s a good lad.”
“Herro Caccshton.” The dog smiled wryly as he spoke through a mawful of mint.

Caxton just leapt back off the sieve and splashed back to the bank.

“Oh man, I think I’m gonna’ puke.” The fox muttered, coughing and spluttering as his poor senses remembered those first inevitable fumes.

The Black Dog of Roborough Down was one of Ignis’s closest friends; even though his breath came fresh from the depths of hell. But it was a small inconvenience for the canine’s supernatural wisdom and plain talking. Rough, black-furred and three feet or more tall, Rob as he was affectionately known, appeared as one not to be trifled with; whereas in fact he was a soft, soppy puppy dog who enjoyed nothing more than a good, sinful scritch behind the ears, and a cool drink at Cottingley Beck.
As Caxton recovered his stomach and everyone else relaxed hands from faces, Rob decided to hop off his little sieve and curl up on the silty bank; his panting, now minty-fresh muzzle lay right at an up-close view of the dancing female fairies.

“Who else we waiting for Ignis?” Rob murmured.
“Shuck should be here soon. And I invited Melly too.”
“Oh God not him!” Caxton grumbled as he returned and sat at the stream’s edge, staring at Ignis at eye-height as the elf was sat on a broken bindweed stalk that hung over the flow.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Other than being completely nuts?”
“You did use his stripes, Cax. I’d be careful.”

But the fox was too set on picking fun.

“Ooo someone mention The Wind in the Willows. That’ll be sure to set ‘im off!”
“Caxton, stop it!”
“Oh no, I’ve got a better one. Call him Brock. That’ll drive him nuts.”
“Knock it off, fox.” Rob growled from the other side of the water, hunching up his shoulders angrily.
“Spoilsport!” The fox mumbled with a pout.

As Caxton grumbled to himself, paws folded and sat with a haughty rise to his muzzle, Ignis flew gently over to sit on Roborough’s huge, black-clawed right paw.
The female fairies danced on, the flip and skip of their feet clouded into the flickering of their silver wings in a delicious earthly firework; dancing through deep gazing pupils and casting across the water, everyone was in awe. The quiet was broken by a rustled approach.

“Mel, mate. You made it.” Ignis watched as the rather elderly badger waddled through the high grass.

The badger stopped, his tiny beads of eyes squinting through the black; he smiled as if in acknowledgement of the voice that he could hear, before shuffling down to the stream’s edge.

“So… how are you Mel?”
“Drink!” The badger exclaimed as he lowered his snout to the water.
“Umm… OK then.” Ignis rolled his eyes; Melly was a badger of few words.

The elf fluttered carefully over to sit on the badger’s wiry-furred back, stroking a paw through the now pure white swathes.

“Been busy?”
“Females!” The badger gurgled, mid-drink.
“Ah I see…”
“Drink!”

Caxton was watching on, sat on his haunches with a frown on his muzzle, brushing the splash of water from his fur with a pompous look. There was a snort of derision and shake of the head, before Melly looked up and snarled at the fox. A broad, clawed paw reached up with a tremble, pointing at Caxton.

“Bog brush!”
“Oh charming! Thanks grandpa.” Cax retired and stepped back up to curl up atop the bank.

Ignis just stifled a giggle and petted the badger gently.

“I know you didn’t like losing your stripes and stuff. But we’ll get them back for you soon.”

The badger was still growling and staring the fox down.

“He is helping. You may not believe it, but he is. I know, Caxton can be a bit of a …”
“Gobshi…”
“Yes alright Melly, that’s enough!” Ignis had to cut him off before he stepped a little too far.
“You being a pain again my vulpine friend.” A deep echoing voice appeared above the din of growling and arguing, coupled with the muddy pad of strong paws that almost made the water shake.

Each and every pair of eyes stared backward and saw another black dog emerging from the gloom, drifting between the marsh reeds and the trees. Shuck had arrived, his gaze reaching through the moon-stained darkness.

“Well, haven’t we a ... Ow, damn it!”

The shadowy canine sat back on his rump, and padded around for his eye. His huge fiery irises would hang out in the front of his head and, having already misplaced one, he’d now skewered the other on a low-hanging tree branch. With a horribly gluey, squelch, Shuck gently took the burning eye from its impalement and, dusting it off, hung it back on his head.

“Dude, what happened to your eye?” Roborough got to his paws and came up to his fellow demon dog.
“Oh I keep losing the damned thing. It’s like a sieve now.”
“No I mean your other eye.”
“Well… yeah. I have a bone to pick with someone!” Shuck came to stand at the stream. His stare was fixed at… well, nothing at all actually. “You. You did this to me.”
“Ummm... Shuck mate? That’s an oak tree.”
“Huh? Well... well then point me in Caxton’s direction.”
“Me? What have I done?!” The fox protested, jumping up from his position and gesturing innocently.

Ignis flew to the ground and gently directed Shuck’s massive black-clawed left paw to turn, leaving the dog’s one-eyed gaze to burn down on the fox.

“Am I… am I looking at him now?” Shuck leant down to Ignis, whispering rather sheepishly. With a positive response, the dog got back to the point with a grin.

“Look mate, I asked you if I could borrow it, and you said yes.” The fox whined; he was feeling rather picked-on.
“Caxton, I can’t see! You took the wrong eye!”
“You said take my left eye and now that’s wrong?! What is this? Whale on Caxton day or something?”
“That’s exactly what I said. But you took the left eye as you looked at me, not my actual left eye.”
“Oh. Oops.” The fox curled back up, covering his muzzle with his tail. This wasn’t good.

Ignis went numb, collapsing back against the dog’s wet paw, his wings crumpled and droopy.

“Oh god, oh god. Fox, what’ve you done!?”
“Ignis, I meant well. I took badger’s stripes to mask the colour, and I placed Shuck’s eye over the lens to make it blind of us.”
“Except you took my good eye, moron. They will have been able to record all that should only dwell in their dreams. It will give us form in their world.” Shuck sat down, his ragged tail batting gently like a dry, tarred brush, a huge hind paw reaching up to scratch at the side of his neck.

The fox just hung his head, a whole audience of angry eyes staring up at him. But amidst the quiet and the guilt, a soft flutter came through the breeze, and Caxton felt a delicate touch on the bridge of his muzzle.

“Come on you. We have to find those things and erase them.” Ignis stood staring down that red-furred bridge, right into the fox’s dulled yellow eyes. “Perk up! The ladies are counting on us.”

The elf pointed down to the waterside where the fairies were busying amidst the leaves and the moss, prancing around the two dogs who sat there purring with contentment; their own personal willing entourage of groomers for a night, in exchange for fire heat from their eyes, and griddled fruits and cakes fresh from the Devil’s Kitchen high in the snowy peaks of Twll Du, Snowdonia. Caxton’s ears took to a height, before braving an apologetic smile, and turning himself to head off into the gilt night light.

Ignis remained to sit atop Caxton’s head between his ears, warm engorged radar that turned softly in their cartilage. They both knew that during the summer, one ground floor sash window was always left ajar to allow air into the building. Clambering onto an old tree stump, Caxton lowered his muzzle to form a stepping-stone to the window ledge. The little elf, careful to hold his little feathered cap to his head, tiptoed down the fox’s muzzle.

“Hee hee, that tickles!” Cax giggled, taking the first opportunity to sit back on his haunches and scratch at his nose.
“Do you think you can get in? It’s quite narrow.”
“Not sure. I did have a rather podgy pheasant for lunch.” Caxton clambered upwards, scrabbling his hind legs against the stone wall, before squeezing himself under the frame.

Ignis stepped into the musty warmth of the house, as his ears rung with the heavy flump of clumsy fox falling to the carpet. As his inept companion gathered himself in self-pity, the elf looked around before taking flight and landing on a veneered writing desk.

“They’re here. Cax, they’re here, look.” Ignis blew gently across the accumulated dust on a series of photographic plates that lay across the length of the table.
“Whoa, it really did take your picture.” The fox had clambered his front paws up to the edge of the table.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Well... how are you gonna’ fix this?” The elf remained indignant, cross-armed and tapping his foot on the surface of the table, having had his worst fear confirmed. “Now they’ve been taken, we can’t just smash them. It would render our soul to pieces. We have to get rid of just our images. Or rather, you have to.”

The fox huffed and sighed, before prancing to a desk chair then leaping on to the desktop.

“Keep your wings on, sheesh!” Caxton reached back to his tail and slowly unscrewed the appendage from his backside.
“Wow, I never knew you could do that.”
“Oh yeah, I have several at home. I can also pop out my eyes and replace them with wooden ones, and I can even change my ears. They’re bayonet fixing so it’s kind of difficult to find cool ones that fit…. although I did find this really neat pair of Anubis ones that…”
“OK OK, I get it. Can we just please... you know.”

So with a mumble, the fox went at the plates with the fluffiest part of his tail, scrubbing at the images as hard as he could. But no matter how hard he tried, the pictures remained.

“They must be witches. They won’t come off.” Cax gave up and reattached his tail.
“Or the guy we entrusted with it, mucked it up?”
“Oh great, I get the nth degree from you too!”
“Well you sorta’ deserve it, fox. You’ve lost us our secret and our souls.”

Caxton just shrugged his shoulders. He was past taking the blame, and now really couldn’t care less. They travelled separately back to the beck; once friends, now severed by a mistake that had seen the humans of Cottingley catch a glimpse of their existence.

Shuck sat up and stretched as he could see the glow of Ignis’s flight approach, backed by the yellow pierce of fox eyes. The elf slumped to a landing on his lily pad, anchored to the pondweed.

“Ignis? You OK?” Shuck’s fiery one-eyed gaze hovered over the stream, gently touching a hot, wet nose to the elf’s fibrous wings.
“They saw us. We can’t destroy the images. It’s taken us all.”

Shuck leant back up to catch eyes with Caxton slinking nervously up to the water’s edge.

“This will be your last mistake, fox.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean, you goggle-eyed mutt?!”

A snarl enveloped the dog’s muzzle, as he was cursed by his sly and unrepentant audience. Clouds now gathered about the moon, rising and falling mysteriously like smoke in the air. Roborough’s silver sieve was now frequented by Ignis and the other fairies, gathering in its cuddle with dewdrops and fresh blanketing leaves.

“Wh... well… where are you going?” Cax’s voice trembled now as he realised they were deserting.

But Ignis, nor any of his companions, would answer him.

“They are going to a place where they’ll be safe.” The black dog’s voice mingled with the night air, the clouds appearing to form steps to the heavens.

Roborough had already stepped onto this strange craft, becoming a canine swirl in the sky, readying to be joined on a journey.

“And you?” Cax murmured angrily.
“We will sail the sky to Exmoor, and we won’t return for six hundred and sixty-six years.” Shuck became larger, growing into the fog that surrounded him, before only his muzzle and eye could be seen.
“Fine! Go!” The fox huffed and made to pad away. But Shuck enveloped him, and lifted him bodily; with paws paddling, he placed the fox precariously on the pan-tiled roof of the house.

“What the hell! Put me down, Shuck. Let me down!”

That treacly muzzle grinned, teeth dripping red and his eye intense with flame.

“I will take the moon as my second eye and forever cast night over your birthplace, Caxton.”
“Oooo big deal! Now let me down, you overgrown lapdog!”
“Not in a month of Sundays, dear vulpine. I cast you here forever and a day, to sway in the wind, and look down upon the beck where you betrayed so many. You will only move to where the breeze tells you. You will only speak as the oil dries from your hinges.”

And with that, Shuck’s façade vanished into the sky, his shadowy wisp of black fur riding the clouds with Roborough. He was true to his word too, for Caxton never spoke again, nor did he move unless the elements told him to.

For if you ever go to Cottingley Beck, look for the house that borders the stream. On the roof is an iron weather vane in the shape of a fox; and the only hints of rust are tracks from his eyes, where he has been crying night and day over his forsaking of the fairies of Cottingley.