The Fox and the Crow

High in the branches of a great oak tree, a Crow sat with the finest prize she'd ever found: a large, fragrant piece of golden cheese. She'd spotted it on the edge of the market square and swooped down in a flash, quick as thought, before anyone could stop her. Now she sat in her tree, proud as a queen, turning the cheese in her beak and thinking what a clever bird she was.

Below in the forest clearing, a Fox came trotting by — and his sharp nose caught the scent before he even looked up. He stopped. He looked. And a slow, crafty smile spread across his pointed face.

He sat down at the foot of the tree and gazed upward with wide, admiring eyes.

---

"Oh my," said the Fox softly. "Oh, how remarkable."

Crow shifted on her branch and eyed him sideways.

"I have traveled the whole forest," the Fox continued, shaking his head in wonder, "and I have never — not once — seen a bird as magnificent as you. That glossy coat! Those regal wings! That proud, elegant head!" He pressed a paw to his chest. "Truly, you are the most beautiful creature in all the wood."

Crow puffed up her feathers. She tilted her head this way and that. Well, she thought, someone finally noticed.

"But I wonder," the Fox went on, his voice dropping to a reverent murmur, "is it possible that a bird so beautiful also has a beautiful voice? I would give anything to hear you sing. Surely the sound must match such splendor."

---

Crow couldn't resist. She had always privately believed she had a rather fine voice. She straightened up, closed her eyes, tilted her magnificent head back, and opened her beak to let out her very best song.

Caw — caw — CAW!

And the cheese fell.

It tumbled down through the air, bounced once off a root, and landed neatly at the Fox's feet. He snatched it up without a moment's hesitation and turned to trot away into the trees.

"Thank you kindly," he called back, his voice rich with satisfaction. "Your song was exactly as lovely as I expected."

---

Crow sat on her branch, feathers ruffled, staring at the empty space where her cheese had been. She felt the slow, hot blush of embarrassment settle over her.

She had known, in some small corner of her mind, that the Fox was flattering her. She had just wanted so badly for it to be true that she'd let herself believe it anyway.

An old owl in the next tree opened one eye. "Well," he said, "at least you got a lesson worth more than cheese."

"And what lesson is that?" Crow muttered.

"Don't let pride open your beak," said the owl, and went back to sleep.

Crow sat with that for a long time. And the next time a charming stranger told her she was wonderful, she kept her beak very firmly shut.