At the edge of a black forest, on the banks of a fast river, near rich larches, my grandfather and grandmother lived. In their old age, like hares approaching winter, they turned completely white.
They had no one, nothing, just a blue cow. At night the old man told fairy tales and whistled songs. The old woman kneaded animal skins and listened. And so these tales flowed smoothly that from the half-asleep black forest, from the high stones, a sensitive musk deer came running to listen. The firelight shone white on her long fangs. I listened all night.
But once during the day the musk deer could not resist. Carefully, moving her thin legs, she went down to the hut. There was a full cauldron of milk at the hut. The musk deer lowered its muzzle into the cauldron and drank half of the milk.
The old woman returned home.
“We’ve been living under this hut for sixty years—there have been no thieves.” Who drank the milk?
Out of shame, the musk deer ran away to the mountain ledges and climbed onto rocks that eluded the eye. Here winged
there is no place for the bird to sit. Clawed animals cannot climb here.
And in the morning the musk deer, missing milk, came
easy step to the hut. She drank the milk again and ran away.
The old men got angry, stuck three tall stakes into the ground and lifted a heavy cauldron. The next morning a musk deer came running and chewed it with its lips.
“Shhh...” she shook her head. - Pshh! They scared me - they raised the milk higher.
She knocked with her front hooves - the cauldron swayed and splashed milk onto the musk deer's back.
The gray back was covered with milky spots. No matter how much the musk deer rolls on the ground, no matter how much it rubs against the stones, the white spots cannot be erased.
Ashamed of this mark, the musk deer now clings to the gray stones and hides in the impenetrable bowl of the forest. In order to overtake the timid musk deer, the hunter must sing a fairy tale, whistle a song. The sensitive musk deer will not tolerate it; it will come out, put up its ears and listen:
This is where they shoot her.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru