On the night of Midsummer, a pike was born in Sheksna, so toothy that God forbid.
Bream, perch, and ruff gathered to stare at her and marveled at such a miracle:
- What a toothy pike!
And it began to grow by leaps and bounds: every day, it would add an inch.
And the pike in Sheksna began to walk around and catch bream and perch: from afar he saw a bream and grabbed it - the bream was gone, only the bones crunched on the teeth.
What an opportunity happened on Sheksna!
What should bream and perch do? It makes you feel sick: the pike eats everyone up and puts them to sleep.
All the small fish gathered, and they began to think: how to transfer a toothy pike and such a dull one.
Ersh Ershovich came and said quickly:
- I’m thinking and racking my brains, but listen to what I’m going to say. We’re all sick and tired of living in Sheksna now, it’s better to move to small rivers to live - to Sizma, Konoma and Slavenka, no one will touch us there, we’ll live happily ever after.
And all the ruffs, bream, and perches rose from the Sheksna into the small rivers - Sizma, Konoma and Slavenka.
Along the way, as they walked, a cunning fisherman caught many of their brothers with a fishing rod and boiled their fish.
Since then, there have been very few small fish in Sheksna. The toothy pike caused a lot of trouble, and after that it was not good for itself.
As soon as the small fish disappeared, the pike went to grab the worms and got hooked itself. The fisherman cooked fish soup from it, slurped it and praised it: it was such a fat fish soup.
I was there, I sipped my ear together, it flowed down my mustache, but it didn’t get into my mouth.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru