Standing chest deep in a sludge of murky water that smelled like rot was not on Goliath’s list of things to do today.

“Be careful. The water gets deep in some places.” His guide said, totally oblivious to his plight.

At least Emmy had a boat, which, regrettably, was much too small for Goliath to sit in. Even if he could, it would probably sink.

He was content to walk on land, but now that they were deeper in the swamp, it was getting more difficult to find places to stand.

Mud oozed between his toes and he prayed that he didn’t step on some hidden creature lurking on the bottom.

Emmy had assured him there was no one living here except for the native species of frog, which primarily lived in the trees.

Goliath looked down at the disgusting, muddy water.

Smart frogs.

He couldn’t fly through here because the willows grew so densely together and their leaves hung down in curtains. His wings would get tangled the second he took to the air.

He tried not to splash too loudly, easier said than done. Especially compared to Emmy, who glided effortlessly through the water, rowing the boat silently.

Goliath didn’t know much about his guide, but Dusk had recommended them. He did trust that they knew what they were doing.

The goblin had to be around three feet tall, wearing an oversized cloak that obscured their features. Only a long, pointy green nose stuck out of the hood. The cloak might have been dark blue at one point, but now it was patchy and covered with mud and grass stains.

In the heart of the swamp was the tree they were searching for.

The legendary cinnamon tree, whose bark could be converted into the wonderful spice that was common in so many kitchens.

Emmy was adept at harvesting it, and agreed to take Goliath into the swamp to see the tree that was responsible for so many of his favorite treats.

Emmy didn’t say much during the trip, content with the silence.

The frogs in the trees chirped at their approach. They were beautiful, their skin came in all sorts of vivid colors. The closest frog crawled up the willow, unconcerned by Goliath’s presence. It had blue skin with white spots.

“Don’t lick them.” Emmy said, as if that was the first thing he would think to do.

When Goliath turned a confused face to the goblin, they continued.

“The frogs secrete a poisonous substance from their skin. It’s toxic if ingested.”

Something about their tone suggested that Emmy knew this firsthand.

“I won’t mess with the frogs.” Goliath promised.

Emmy nodded, satisfied.

After a few more minutes of wading through water, Goliath rejoiced. The water gave way to mud, and then land. The ground was still uncomfortably squishy, but leagues above whatever was at the bottom of the pond.

The ground was mossy and Goliath sunk into it with every step. Emmy hauled the boat to shore and continued on, barely making a dent in the moss as they walked.

Goliath hadn’t been expecting this much walking.

Maybe he should exercise more.

He tried not to breathe too loudly so Emmy wouldn’t think he was totally out of shape. He resisted the urge to say ‘are we there yet?’ like a petulant child.

He could see a flash of red between the draping willow trees.

Finally, there it was.

The grove of cinnamon trees.

They were much shorter than the willows, but their trunks were sturdy, with healthy bright red leaves. The bark was peeling, a deep brown.

The whole area smelled like cinnamon rolls.

Emmy produced a comically large basket from within their robes.

They showed him how to gently peel the bark from the tree. An orange frog sat on a nearby rock and watched him, as if making sure he was doing it right.

Some pieces were easy to peel off, while others wouldn’t budge.

“If it doesn’t peel off easily, don’t yank it. That means it isn’t ready to be harvested.” Emmy explained. “Although you are stronger than me, so it might feel different. Hm.” They tapped a claw on their chin, lost in thought.

When the basket was full, they had to make the trek out of the swamp, much to Goliath’s dismay.

He already missed the smell of cinnamon as it was quickly replaced by the muddy, decaying scent of the marsh.

~

Emmy had a special process for cleaning the cinnamon bark and grinding it into powder. Goliath couldn’t believe the amount of effort that went into making the finished product.

“Tah-dah!” Emmy presented him the ground cinnamon, ready to be used in many of his favorite baked goods.

“How about I treat you to a coffee cake?” Goliath said.

~

Before he began, he made a silent vow that this would be the best coffee cake he ever made in his life.

He used a healthy dose of the cinnamon, both in the cake and the topping. He cut the butter into the mixture of flour, brown sugar, and cinnamon. It crumbled up and he sprinkled it over the top of the cake. He slid the coffee cake into the oven.

Emmy watched him curiously, legs dangling as they waited on the barstool.

“Thank you for showing me how to harvest the cinnamon. It’s one of my favorite spices. I don’t know what I’d do without it.”

Emmy ducked their head, embarrassed. The hood still shrouded their face.

“I’m glad I could teach you.”

When they both tasted the cake, there was a moment of silence. Then:

“Do you think… you could teach me… How to make this cake?”