Cyril the squirrel used an old trunk as a pillow and laid his weary head down. Resting upon the stump of the oaken trunk, he dreamed of his sweet maiden fair. The wonderful lady, the enigmatic Mabel was baking and caking a treat. For it was Winter, the sky nought but a splinter – a shard of delicate ice.
Awoken with a start, paws empty of delights; Cyril hotfooted to a cold store of nuts. Presenting them proud with whoop and happy howl, he juggled the nuts in the hearth. Slipping and falling, the bounty sent squalling. Careful with those nuts Cyril!