A/N

Hello again! Sorry for taking an age to get back to this, I keep on forgetting/losing the will to write anything which I know sounds really bad but I'm working my way through it one sentence at a time!

Hopefully you are still enjoying this as much as I am - I've had so much fun looking into the various fables and parables from around the world and I feel as though these fables are interesting enough to research into if you ever have the chance.

Chapter IV: Immigration Control, Part II

Stories are told all across the world. From the coldest of icecaps to the scorching deserts of the sub-Saharan, people of all cultures and faiths gather together to regale and entertain with tales of old.

Some are more unusual than others, and from Bigby's experience those ones almost always involve the most annoying of fables. Somehow, there must be a hidden rule somewhere that the weirder the story, the more irritating the Fable, because for the life of him he can't come up with a more sensible answer.

This particular fable includes something of an oddity amongst the fable community, in that the Fable is question isn't exactly whole by any stretch of the word.

It's a talking head.

An annoying talking head.

If he wasn't stuck here through sheer confusion and curiosity, Bigby might as well return home and listen to the incessant chattering of some of his own odd cousins.

"Welcome to Egypt relatives, I hope you have enjoyed this wonderful country so far," one of the Fables who blocked their path warmly welcomes them with a wide smile as the odd group meander the winding streets of the city.

"I am Ahmed," the seemingly middle-aged Eastern man announces, "And you are Bigby Wolf, the Woodsman... and Colin."

"Okay smartass, you know this how?" the Big Bad Wolf grunts, preparing to huff and puff the whole city down if needed.

"The heavenly bodies showed me as such," the Fable responds as though the answer was obvious. "They can tell you everything you ever need to know, if only you learn how to watch and listen."

"Stargazer... worse than a hippie if you ask me," the Woodsman groans under his breath.

Some Fables are more obscure than others, so it doesn't come as a massive surprise to Bigby that he hasn't exactly ever been enlightened with the tale of Ahmed, however knowing a tale is half the way to understanding a Fable. It's so important in fact, the Sheriff might as well listen to the story even though he doubts it involved murder and mayhem such as his.

Most are far more boring than that.

"So what's your story then?" the Sheriff asks, winking at the Woodsman as the big man shoots him a pleading glance. "Sorry to say that I haven't heard yours yet."

"Our stories do not reach your end of the world?" the third and final fable who accosted them speaks up, still holding the head in his hands as they turn down yet another alleyway. "Perhaps you have look heard of the Vizier? I expect you must have heard of me."

Of course, Bigby could lie and say he's ever heard of his fellow Fable but he expects it's far too early in their 'friendship' to start off with deception and it's likely the man would know if the Big Bad Wolf was sucking up to him.

Unexpectedly, Colin speaks up. "You did that thing to that prince, right?"

"Ah, so at least one of you know of me."

The man's smile is large and unnerving, the faintest cracks of arrogance seeping through his wide grin. A quick and brutal smack would solve that right away, but yet again Bigby refrains from his better instincts, instead focusing his attentions on his Piggy friend.

"Don't look so surprised Big, Colin knows a lot more than he lets on. After all, I'm the only one out of us that can read more than one sentence," the pig smirks, breaking Bigby's slight admiration as quickly as it appeared.

"Next time you read a book, I'll break it over your head and make you into a stew," the Sheriff returns, glaring at Colin and intentionally licking his lips.

"I think it would be best if we... enjoy the views as we walk," Ahmed coughs in an attempt to defuse the tension.

It's not a bad idea if Bigby would ever admit it. Cairo may not be the place Colin said it would be, but it definitely has a lot more charm than the monotonous streets and bleak walls of Fabletown. Even the pathways they are walking on feel old and full of personality, as though the billions of feet which have touched upon it's surface has each left their own imprint on it.

Fabletown could use something which makes it feel more alive but he doubts Snow would ever come close to agreeing to opening up Fabletown to both fable and mundie alike. Cairo and it's denizens seem to be more open in that regard, as even their welcome was far more warm than what they would receive if they arrived in Fabletown unannounced and quite frankly, Bigby would have torn an arm off and sent them on their way if he was in their shoes.

This is their turf and it's starting to feel like he shouldn't be treading on it.

The question is: which one of them is Bigby?

"Almost there," the Vizier announces, his stride growing more proud and his chest protruding forwards with every step. "You are going to love our home as if it were your own, that I can guarantee."

The Woodsman chuckles and nudges Bigby. "Someone going to tell him we left because we hated it."

"Not me," the Sheriff shakes his head. "Enough people hate me back home - don't need to make more enemies here as well. At least not before we get to see how Fables live down here."

"How much are we betting it's better than the bureaucratic nonsense back home?" Colin whispers.

"You're as broke as we are Colin, the only thing you have to bet is your bacon," Bigby whispers back, much to the Woodsman's amusement.

"Uhh Bigby... you paid for a return as well, right?"

A/N

One morning the old woman rose even earlier than usual, and set off for the city with her wares. She was just crossing the bridge when, suddenly, she knocked up against a human head, which she had never seen there before. The woman started back in horror; but what was her surprise when the head spoke, exactly as if it had a body joined on to it.

'Take me with you, good mother!' it said imploringly; 'take me with you back to your house.'

At the sound of these words the poor woman nearly went mad with terror. Have that horrible thing always at home? Never! never! And she turned and ran back as fast as she could, not knowing that the head was jumping, dancing, and rolling after her. But when she reached her own door it bounded in before her, and stopped in front of the fire, begging and praying to be allowed to stay.

- The Enchanted Head (Andrew Lang - The Brown Fairy Book (1904) - based off of Arabic folklore tales.)