The world of the Beasts was hit by mayhem.
Emotions were crowning and tension was mounting.
The president of the resident murder had been tricked into losing her piece of cheese
By that foxy clump of skin, bones and a meagre amount of red fur,
The name slips my mind.
It was fox, to cut to the chase.
And a very mean gossipmonger who goes by the name of Aesop spread the story
And Caw, poor girl, became the joke of the whole Tweeting community.
Even warblers, those shaky bits of chirping nothingness, would giggle at her.
Imagine the humiliation.
Only days before, the murder had established its position on top of the wits chart.

The crow fraternity was enraged.
Skin and Bones started growing a fresh shiny coat of red fur.
Shampoo commercials fickle as usual, got rid of Caw as the brand ambassador.
Comedy shows replaced the president crow with the trickster fox on the judging panel. Things were moving in a particularly unfortunate direction.

As news of the President’s folly spread, the murder’s activities became particularly murderous.
The murder wanted blood, you see.
Like a week before.
And the week before that.
For a creature whose intelligence is so acclaimed, it seems to be quite pointlessly blood-thirsty.

CONSPIRACY!
Spat the crows in quivering bursts.
It was as if they had found purpose at last.
The hammocks were abandoned and cacophony was reduced to a capella.
And then the squirrels got offended.
Heated discussions followed. Nothing came out of them.
Panic hit the murder.

MURDER!
Cried the brand-new-and-shiny fox as the black knights ruthlessly
Pecked and pelted.
They were swift, sharp and cold.
Dens were looted and cubs orphaned and then killed.
The squirrels contracted asthma and retired from the episode
Hurt and hush.
Helter skelter, the beasts ran, some retaliated half-heartedly,
But the murder followed always.

Days passed and the President started to work up a cough
And on a chilly February morning they found her lying limp,
Crest and tiara fallen.
Rumours of homicide, suicide, birdicide, ethnocide, famicide and regicide spread like wildfire.
The murder mob made some threats again, but was too tired to follow them through.
A few knights remained active though
And each passing minute made them increasingly bitter.
But most thought it was much more convenient to save their energies for the hammock. They longed to nap, these crows.
And so they napped.

Gossipmongers found fresh material.
Squirrels started resurfacing.
Broncho-dilators were safely packed for next week.

The beasts had let the bygones be bygones.