The forest had a new king. He took his throne in Downward Dell, quite by force, for his silver paws were strangers among the pines and they had come a long way. Among his treacherous attendants were the spies, small monochrome birds with tufts of antennas. They plucked out the riches and brought him a crown of thistle, to sit upon the pearl fur now installed on the seat of petrified majesty. He lost no claws that day, but the sun was settling and the dark night rains grew creepers everywhere.