In late autumn, birds flew to the edge of the forest.
It's time for them to go to warmer climes. For seven days they gathered, calling out to each other:
- Is everyone here? Is everything here? Is everyone here?
It turns out that there is not enough wood grouse. The golden eagle tapped the dry branch with its humped nose, tapped again and ordered the young grouse to call the wood grouse. Whistling with its wings, the black grouse flew into the thicket of the forest. He sees a wood grouse sitting on a cedar tree, shelling nuts from the cones.
- Dear wood grouse! We all want to go to warmer climes. We've been waiting for you alone for seven days.
- Well, well, don’t chat in vain! There is no hurry to fly to the warm land. How many more nuts are there left? Is it really necessary to give up all this?
The grouse returned to the edge of the forest.
“The capercaillie,” she says, “eats nuts and is in no hurry to fly away.”
Then the golden eagle sent a fast hawk. A hawk circled over a large cedar. And the capercaillie still sits, creaks its beak, selects nuts from the cones.
- Oh, wood grouse, the birds have been waiting for you for fourteen days, it’s time to fly to warmer lands!
“There’s no need, there’s no need to rush,” the wood grouse creaked. - We'll make it. You need to eat before going on the road.
The golden eagle got angry and, ahead of all the birds, flew to the warm lands.
And the capercaillie spent another seven days choosing nuts. On the eighth he sighed and cleaned his beak on his feathers:
“No, apparently I don’t have the strength to eat all of this. We'll have to leave it to the squirrels."
And he flew to the edge of the forest.
What is it?
The cedars' needles fell off. The branches wave their bare twigs. These birds waited for the capercaillie for two weeks and ate all the needles. The bases of the trees stand white, as if covered with snow. These are birds, waiting for the capercaillie, preening their feathers.
The capercaillie wept bitterly and creaked:
“Of all the birds, I’m the only one left in the forest!” How can I spend the winter alone? The wood grouse's eyebrows turned red from tears. Since then, all his children, grandchildren, and nephews, listening to this story, cry bitterly. And all the wood grouse’s children, and grandchildren, and nephews have red eyebrows like rowan.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru