It was an age old problem. They kept breaking. It was long past time to find a proper solution and prevent this from happening.
But I won’t be the one to solve it.
By all rights I should be. My people have been in the business as long as anyone can remember. It is our livelihood. We all believed that one day one of our descendents would solve it. That may well still be true, but I know now that it won’t be me.
I am in love. That isn’t a complete shock, I’m sure. But my love is not approved. In fact, some will call me traitor for my love. For the fact that I cannot raise a hand to against her people any longer. And solving this problem, it would most certainly be an act against her people.
So I will not solve it. I am adrift, a castaway, broken by my unrequited love.
The aroma was vivid, and led me away down a path. Around a bend I found a baker, lit by a lantern over his door.
Stepping inside I found a complete modern commercial bakery turning out gingerbread men by the thousands, a veritable gingerbread army. Each was dressed in uniform, and carried a full kit including weapon and ammo. Under the conditions, it was only prudent that we be armed.
My unit began to march toward the city, flanked by outriders on large dogs. There was an occasional incident of a dog eating his rider, but that was a standing risk of making an army out of something as tasty as gingerbread.
The dogs were patient, but there is only so long you can make a dog balance a milkbone on its back before it will turn and eat it.
It is virtually certain that the bone will be eaten.