He strolled through a garden. Rows of vibrant multi-hued blooms vied for his attention. He chose one, its petals unfolded in his hand and blossoms of words danced before his eyes.

Wolf grinned and, giving the cover a fond pat, replaced the book upon its shelf. He had to admit, the garden metaphor was really quite good. With a swish of his tail he clasped his hands behind and swaggered along the bookshelves admiring the colorful spines with their titles embossed in gold and silver lining the shelves. His tail wagged; a howl of pride nudged but he repressed it. As Virginia all too frequently reminded him, sometimes one simply had to abide by a little humility. Although why that should be he really didn’t understand. There were hundreds of tomes in the collection. They consisted of volumes of poetry, short stories, novellas, and novels. The themes ran the course from high adventure, to sweeping romance, to laugh-out-loud hilarious, to goosepimply scary, to five hankie poignant, to wolf-howlingly bawdy. And, in the majority of these literary works, he was a central figure if not the central figure. Huff-Puff, did that not warrant a hefty dose of conceit?

Arriving at the end of the row; he turned and surveyed the procession of shelves in front of him. The original stories had only been paper copies so Wendell had spared no expense in having them reprinted using the finest parchment, ink and leather binding. Rocking back and forth on his heels Wolf took a deep breath, his sensitive nostrils twitching with appreciation at the comfy aromas intrinsic to any library. Suddenly, his brow furrowed and the sparkle in his eyes dimmed when they rested on the last bookcase. The top shelf was only partially filled and those below were conspicuously bare. He gave a low whine. There had been a smattering but it had still been close to a year since Thomas Applecat, the royal researcher sent to New York and commissioned by Wendell to study the mores of the 10th Kingdom, had sent any new stories through the Central Park mirror.

Up until five years ago the Grimm brothers had been the only chroniclers of the history of the Nine Kingdoms. And according to Virginia and Tony, the brothers’ annals [abridged] were viewed in the 10th Kingdom as merely fables suitable only for the amusement of young children. Therefore, it had caused quite a stir when Thomas had produced the first “new” tale, a fictional accounting of the adventures of the Four Who Saved the Kingdom. Apparently he had stumbled across it “online” – a concept Virginia had long since given up attempting to explain. [From what Wolf could gather there appeared to be a gi-normous spider’s web that stretched throughout the Tenth Kingdom and beyond and linked people and places - sort of like a traveling mirror except you didn’t go through it]. One of those places you could visit just happened to be a publishing house and library called The Kingdoms Press and it was devoted to the Nine Kingdoms! [Thomas had investigated further into the matter and what he had uncovered concerning how the adventures of Wolf, Virginia, Tony, and Wendell were known to the 10th Kingdom was both flabbergasting and not a little unsettling. Wendell had asked Virginia to go to New York to look into the matter herself and she had been able to corroborate Applecat’s findings. While Lord Rupert and the high council had been disquieted by the report, Wendell had taken everything in stride saying that having experienced the 10th Kingdom first hand nothing surprised him. Regardless, it had been decided that it might be best for all to keep the truth confidential and everyone privy to the facts had been sworn to secrecy.]

After that Thomas had begun sending other stories with astonishing regularity; sometimes two or three a day had been dispatched through the mirror! Of course, quite a number of noses had been put out of joint when it had become apparent that the bulk of the tales centered around Wolf and his delectable Mrs. [stories occurring before their nuptials and fraternal twins]. Since the initial tale, quite a sizeable collection had been amassed over the years and it was only after a significant number had begun to appear in which Wendell was the protagonist that a council had been formed to establish a fitting repository for the collection. After much debate it had been determined that although there were nearly a hundred books there were clearly not enough to warrant erecting a building of their own therefore, it had been decided that a room in the palace should be chosen in which to house the tales.

The chamber so designated was a delightful choice. Conveniently situated on the first floor of the palace’s eastern tower it was bright and spacious, yet intimate. The walls were cream, kissed with a hint of yellow, and the ceiling a robin's egg blue. Light came from stained glass windows set high near the ceiling to safeguard the rich leather bindings against fading. The chamber was also temperature controlled to ward off mildew. In the middle of the floor was a colorful hand-woven rug depicting butterflies, birds and flowers. [Wolf felt like he hadn’t been far-off when describing it as being like a garden.] A half-dozen nooks outfitted with comfortable chairs, footstools and tea table were located, with thoughtful consideration for a reader’s privacy, around the room.

Although the greater part of the collection was suitable for all ages – the twins, Wendy and Tony, loved the humorous pieces that Wolf read to them at bedtime – there were some that had been deemed too risqué for a general audience. While few in number, these “special” tomes were kept in a locked glass-fronted case and adults wishing access could do so with a small golden key obtained from the library’s custodian [Wolf had checked out several and could certainly recommend their merit in romantic foreplay].

Flanking the room’s trim fireplace were two life-sized portraits. They were of two Tenth Kingdom women - Dame Sohna, initiator, procurer and curator of The Kingdoms Press and Dame A.N.D, founder of The Huff-Puff League of Fantastical Tale Spinners from which the authors of the tales hailed.

Naturally, the title of Dames of the Realm had been bestowed by Wendell in absentia and as Thomas had been unable to uncover any images no one knew what the real women looked like. The likenesses depicted upon the canvases by the Royal Portraitist were most striking and it was fervently hoped that the real ladies would have been delighted with the results.

Wolf crossed the room. Sprawling upon a chair, he gnawed at a fingernail and worriedly contemplated the empty bookshelves. A reason for their barrenness had suggested itself to him and he’d been trying to ignore it - what if there were no more stories coming? What if the writers’ fascination with the kingdoms was waning? He sat up abruptly. What if they were loosing interest in him! Emitting a yowl he squirmed upon the seat, then springing up, began to pace, scratching frantically at his brow. That last thought just couldn’t be true! Why, it was unheard of! Huff Puff, wolfie’s never lost their appeal! Sagging against the mantel he laid his forehead against the marble and whimpered. After a few moments his head raised and he gazed miserably at the mirror overhead. Suddenly bolting away from the fireplace he ran to the middle of the room then backed away until his entire body was reflected in the mirror. Twisting and gyrating, he anxiously and meticulously scrutinized every aspect of his appearance. Nothing had changed - same dashing, tall, trim figure, same handsome, excitingly bad-boyish face, same ever-so-romantically tousled hair. Slowly, the dreadful thoughts he’d been harboring began to ebb.

Laughing shakily he collapsed into a chair, this time with relief. Mopping his eyes he took a deep breath and let it out with gusto. Could he have been any more ridiculous? Of course, he still had it and wasn’t about to lose it anytime soon. No siree!

He stood up, straightened his coat and vest and smoothed his hair back behind his ears. Striding to the glass-fronted case, retrieved a tiny golden key from his vest pocket [he’d had the custodian’s copied] and inserted it. Tapping a finger thoughtfully against his lips he studied the titles then selected a volume. Tucking it under his arm he relocked the door. Stepping back he bowed flamboyantly, including all the bookcases in the gesture then, turning to the Dames’ portraits bowed again; upon rising, he favored each lady with a wink and a grin.

Sauntering to the door he stopped upon the threshold and blew a loud kiss to the room. There was a perfectly good explanation as to why the flow of tales had dwindled; but they’d soon start up again, in that he had the utmost confidence [after all, the majority of authors were women, so how could they resist the temptation to write more about him]. Then, tapping a merry beat upon the book under his arm and whistling in time, with a flick of his tail he strolled out.