Spring has come. Two snow buntings flew from warm regions to the rocks near the Bering Strait. They built themselves a nest on a high cliff near the sea.
The mother bunting laid an egg and began to incubate it. I was afraid to fly away from the spot so that the egg would not be blown by the cold wind. She covered him from the rain with herself, she was malnourished, and did not get enough sleep.
Finally, the son hatched from the egg. Yes, so successful, so handsome! No one on the entire coast could have found a more beautiful chick. One bad thing is that he is very loud.
Here, indeed, the parents had no time to drink, eat, or sleep. If the father flies off to hunt, the mother cradles her son. If his mother is away, his father takes care of him.
One day a mother bunting was sitting on the edge of the nest and sang a song to her son:
Whose little paws are these? Whose little wings are these? Whose cute little head is this? Whose cute little eyes are these? Whose-whose, whose-whose?
A crow flew past, heard a song, sat down nearby and began to listen. Listened, listened and listened. It’s impossible to say how much he liked this song. He began to ask for the snow bunting:
-Give me a song! Give me the song!
- What you! - says the snow bunting. - I can’t give it away. We have only one. There is no other song.
“I beg you very much,” the raven persuades. – Now I can’t live without this song.
“But my son can’t sleep without a song.” And don’t ask, I won’t give it!
The raven got angry:
- If you don’t give it back with kindness, I’ll take it by force!
He flew into a snow bunting, snatched a song from her and flew away.
Then the snow bunting's son began to scream and burst into tears. And the mother bunting began to cry.
The snow bunting's father returned from hunting. He sees and hears - his son is screaming, his wife is shedding tears over him.
- What's wrong with you? - asks. - What trouble happened?
“It’s a terrible misfortune,” answers the snow bunting’s mother. - A raven flew in and took away our song. Now my son will never fall asleep, he will cry all over! How will we live?
The snow bunting's father became angry, his eyes sparkled, and he stamped his foot:
“Give me my hunting mittens, my combat bow, my well-aimed arrows!” I’ll fly to look for the offender, I’ll tear the song out of his throat!
He flew and flew, saw many birds, but none of them were crows... Either a partridge runs between the stones, or a plover whistles. Finally I saw a whole flock of ravens on the cliffs. He sat down not far away, put an arrow on his bow, pulled the string, and waited. Whoever sings his song gets an arrow.
However, the crows mind their own business. Old men are basking in the sun, old women are gossiping. Young people are playing games. The crow guys whisper something in the ears of their darlings. And no one sings songs—neither the snow bunting’s nor their own. They croak once, twice, but is this really a song?
The father bunting flew on. He flew, circled, saw a raven sitting on a tree, one sitting in the branches. The beak is raised, the eyes are closed, it sways from side to side and sings and sings:
Whose little paws are these? Whose little wings are these? Whose cute little head is this? Whose cute little eyes are these?
He sings and starts again:
Whose little paws are these? Whose little wings are these?..
- Here he is, the villain! Here he is, the thief of the best song in the world! - said the snow bunting's father.
He sat down on a branch of the same tree, pulled the bowstring, and shot an arrow at the raven. The arrow slid along the smooth wing and fell to the ground. The raven didn't even notice, didn't open his eyes. Sings and pours out.
Then the snow bunting's father grabbed as many arrows as there were in his quiver, put them between his fingers and began to shoot at the robber. Four arrows at a time.
And the raven still sings:
- Oh, whose little paws are these?
- Oh, whose little wings are these?
- Oops, something hit me in the side!
- Oh, whose cute little head is this?
- Oh, something is pricking me!
- Oh, whose cute little eyes are these?
- Oh-oh! Oh-oh! I can't do it anymore! Kar-kar-r!
And released a song from his beak.
And the father bunting grabbed her and flew quickly to his nest.
He flies up and hears his son screaming and his wife crying.
“Don’t scream, don’t cry,” the snow bunting’s father tells them. “I took our song from the evil raven.” Here she is!
The mother bunting was happy and sang a song. My son calmed down and fell asleep.
Since then, snow buntings, as soon as they see a raven flying past, fall silent. They are afraid to even open their beak. This is the song that has been preserved. And now all the snow buntings sing it to their noisy children.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru