“Stay by the den,” Rudas would growl before a hunt. “You are too small to run with us.” “The deer will trample you,” Pilkas would add, not unkindly, but with a sigh.
“Brother, what are you doing?” asked Pilkas. “Drink! Save your strength!”
“We must find a new stream,” Rudas declared. “We must fight the beavers upstream,” said Pilkas. “They have dammed something poisonous.” ka padaret vienam is maziausiuju broliu
“You asked what you could do,” the badger said. “You did not move the mountain. You moved the drop.”
One autumn, a great sickness came to the forest. The Stream of Clear Water, the only source of drink for miles, turned bitter and dark. The deer left. The rabbits hid. Rudas and Pilkas returned from their hunts with empty bellies and dull eyes. “Stay by the den,” Rudas would growl before a hunt
“Maybe,” said Mažius. “But the forest won’t be.”
They argued for three days, growing weaker. On the fourth morning, Mažius was gone. “Drink
They did not hunt. They did not fight. Day by day, mouthful by mouthful, they watered the sapling. The rains came late that winter, but the sapling, its roots now strong, held on. The sickness in the great stream slowly faded.