The Mouse seems to be new in this world. He appears young, light-hearted, seemingly bordering on the naïve in the beginning. When he first encounters the gigantic Fox, he has no routine to revert to, even the role designated for his kind (that of the prey, to either run or be eaten) seems unknown to him. And here it happens: a mouse is kissed by a muse... Inspired (maybe even challenged) by the Fox's shameless fabrications, his own imagination kicks in, and it's far from mouse-sized. It's bigger and more outrageous than both Fox and his lies. The Mouse's fierce imagination literally saves his life. Later, when in the claws of the Owl, the trick might still feel a little shaky, but when meeting the Snake the mouse feels on top of his game, confident in his new ability to create.

But the viewer can sense a subtle discrepancy now between initial creativity and the Mouse's somewhat smug routine. We know that this won't turn out good. On a purely theoretical level, the mouse, after being alone again, comes to discover that the paranoia he has unleashed into the woods has come to manifest itself. Next to the Mouse's still ingenuous core, there is now a second aspect of him out in the woods, one that so far can't be threatened by anyone. Soon, creation stands before his creator, unflinchingly threatening to eat him up. The Mouse no longer lives in a world solely inhabited by foxes, owls and snakes, but also by claws, warts and poison. A thought once thought, can't be made unthought, it is forever out there now. But in an incredibly clever (and in beautiful ways slightly amoral) twist, the story turns things on their head once more. In order to bail himself out of the mess he has created, there's just one thing left to do for the mouse: Keep on telling stories.