Whilst strolling through the orchard one fine late spring day, Lotte chanced upon a shoe tree. Its many berries were ripening fast. A few, Lotte noticed, were fully formed into handsome red stilettos. “Just what I need,” Lotte said to herself.

“Don’t you have enough already?” asked a red fox.

“Ha!” Lotte snorted. “You can’t have too many red stillettos.”

“Very well,” said the fox. “But why are you naked?”

“I’m not naked,” Lotte declared. She waggled her stiletto shod foot at the fox.

“But what about the rest of your clothing?”

“Excess weight,” Lotte said. “I may have to leap to bring down this footwear.”

“Right,” said the fox. “But it’s probably not your size.”

“It certainly is my size,” Lotte replied. “I have an eye for that sort of thing.”

“If you say so,” said the fox.

“I do say so,” said Lotte. “And if I may also say, your coat is none too sleek, your fur none too fluffy. A scrawnier fox I’ve seldom seen.”

“Sad story,” said the fox. “All I’ve had to eat since Tuesday has been one scrawny gingerbread boy.”

“Don’t get any ideas about eating my shoes,” said Lotte.

“Of course not,” said the fox. “I’m allergic to leather. But that aside, surely we can be of mutual benefit.”

“Oh? How so?” asked Lotte.

“Well, even if you’re able to grasp the low-hanging stiletto, its mate is surely out of reach. One shoe wouldn’t suit you one bit.”

“True,” agreed Lotte. “So what do you propose?”

“Kiss me,” said the fox.”

“What?”

“Kiss me and I turn into a handsome prince. Six foot four in his stocking paws, I mean feet. I could then hoist you high into the tree. You could pluck stilettos to your heart’s desire.”

“Tempting,” said Lotte. “But how do I know I can trust you? How do I know you won’t nip off my tongue?”

“I would never,” claimed the fox.

“So you say,” said Lotte, her eyes taking the fox’s measure. “Nevertheless, I’m getting a ladder.”