A twist on La Fontaine...

Maître corbeau, sur un arbre perché,
Tenait en son bec un fromage.
—J. de La Fontaine
(Le corbeau et le renard)

Hannibal was an unusual crow, as crows go, not just because he had a name—which would have been enough to distinguish him from almost all of his fellows—but also because he had spent his early years in the care of an old man, a woodcutter named Hans, after having fallen out of his nest as a baby. Carrying a piece of smelly Limburger cheese in his beak, Hannibal alighted on a tree branch and looked back, toward the depths of the forest where few men had ever ventured. The smell of the cheese was quite strong, which was instrumental to his plan, here in the part of the forest where the scent of men was pervasive.

The young fox following Hannibal emerged from the depths of the forest and looked up at him. The fox had been following the crow for quite some time.

"Hallo, dear sir!" said the fox, addressing Hannibal. "Good day to you!"

The bird blinked down at him and said nothing. The fox continued: "I could not help but notice what a handsome and good-looking bird you are. In fact, if your song is anywhere as beautiful as your plumage, I dare say you would truly be—the Phoenix of this forest!"

On hearing these words, Hannibal—as if to demonstrate his beautiful voice—opened his mouth wide and let drop the cheese. The fox ran up to his fallen prize, put his foot on it as if to keep it from running away, and looked back up at the crow.

"My good sir," said the fox. "Know that each flatterer lives at the expense of those who take him seriously. But do not be angry with my, my friend. Consider your newly increased knowledge to be worth this piece of cheese."

In reply, Hannibal took off in a huff, looking backward at the fox as he flew away. "Caw!" was all he said. The fox turned his attention to the Limburger.

All at once, there was a sharp sound of a tree branch breaking and Hannibal cried out in pain. The fox, with the cheese in his mouth, turned his head in time to see Hannibal fall with flightless wings onto the forest floor on the far side of a stump and a rock that aptly framed the hapless bird as it tried to rise.

"Oh, how now!" thought the fox, considering the prospect of a two-course meal. "This is my lucky day!"

So, with the cheese in its mouth, the fox dashed with blazing eyes toward the helpless bird.

SNAP‼

As his front paws hit the ground just past the rock, the fox had the impression of the forest floor rising toward him, and then a set of powerful jaws of neither bone nor flesh closed on his forelegs with relentless force. He tried to move, but couldn't. The pain was almost more than he could stand.

With a flutter of wings, the crow—healthy and uninjured—alighted on top of the stump. The cheese, which had fallen out of the fox's mouth when the trap had sprung, was in the bird's beak. The beak opened, and the cheese dropped onto the top of the stump.

"What ho, there, fox?" said the crow. "My name is Hannibal."

"But—" said the fox, and Hannibal could hardly hear him. "That sound—the fall—"

Hannibal opened his mouth and the sound of a breaking tree branch came out of his mouth.

"You mean that? I was taught to make that sound by the woodcutter Hans, because people in the forest would cover their heads when they heard that sound, and that made Hans laugh. He also taught me how to fall from the sky like a wounded bird. 'If a hunter shoots at you and misses,' he used to say, 'it's best to let him think he got you. Putting on an act is the sincerest form of flattery, because that way, the hunter will take his time making his way to you, and meanwhile, you can get away.' The woodcutter even taught me to stack rings of different size on a stick, and to do it so no ring was bigger than any ring below it. Let me tell you, that was hard! But I did not mind learning these tricks, because in exchange the woodcutter Hans gave me my name, Hannibal. Don't you think it's a handsome name?"

The pain in his legs had dulled somewhat, but the fox still could not move. He was bleeding, and thirsty, and very hungry. "Yes. Very handsome—now that you've had your revenge, why don't you go away—leave me alone?" said the fox.

"Oh, I couldn't do that," said Hannibal, "not just yet. And truly, revenge was not my purpose, believe me. You cannot imagine how long it took me to observe the men in this part of the forest, and to understand how they emplaced the thing that holds you here, what happens to the animals the thing catches, and how often the men return." Hannibal bent down to rip off a tiny bit of cheese, and ate it. "Then I had to figure out how to get you to do what you did, which resulted in you being there and me being here. It was all like the ring game, but much harder!"

The sight of the crow eating the cheese made the fox's mouth water. "Hungry—please—food—a bite—" he whispered.

"No, sorry," said Hannibal. "I've got to make this cheese last a while longer."

With the light slowly fading from his eyes, the fox looked questioningly at Hannibal. "Last? What for? What happens then?" the fox seemed to be asking.

"You die, of course," said Hannibal, as if replying to the fox's look. "Didn't you know we crows are scavengers?"