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"The Race of Patience and Pride"

"A Fable About the Strength of Determination"

By ArfooPublished 9 months ago 3 min read

Once upon a time in a lush green valley nestled between whispering woods and sparkling streams, lived many animals great and small. Among them were a proud horse named Thunder and a quiet, thoughtful snail named Silas.

Thunder was known far and wide for his speed and strength. He could gallop faster than the wind and leap over fences with barely a breath. The other animals admired him, and he admired himself even more. Silas, on the other hand, was small and slow. He spent most of his days inching along leaves, enjoying the cool shade, and thinking about life.

One sunny morning, the animals gathered near the meadow for the Annual Forest Games. Thunder, as usual, was boasting.

“No one can beat me in a race,” he neighed, tossing his mane. “I was born to run!”

The animals clapped and cheered, except for Silas, who just smiled and continued nibbling on a patch of lettuce.

Suddenly, Thunder noticed him. “You don’t seem impressed, little snail. What’s the matter? Too slow to clap?”

Some of the animals chuckled, but Silas didn’t seem bothered. He looked up and said calmly, “Speed is impressive, Thunder, but sometimes, determination wins more than speed.”

Thunder snorted. “Determination? You mean slow-motion stubbornness?”

“Call it what you will,” said Silas, “but I believe even I could finish a race just as well as you.”

That made Thunder rear up with laughter. “You? Finish a race against me? You’d need a year’s head start!”

More laughter rippled through the meadow. But a wise old owl who had seen many seasons raised her wing and said, “Perhaps this is the race we need this year — not to see who is fastest, but who is most determined.”

And so it was decided. The race would begin the next morning. Thunder would start at sunrise. Silas would start at sunset — twelve hours later. The finish line would be the old oak tree at the far end of the valley, a journey of over five miles.

The Race Begins

The next morning, as golden rays lit the fields, Thunder stretched his powerful legs and galloped off, a blur of brown and black. The animals cheered and watched as he disappeared into the hills.

That evening, when the stars began to blink awake, Silas began his slow, silent journey. Inch by inch, he moved forward under the moonlight. He didn’t stop. Not for sleep. Not for rest. His world was quiet, peaceful. His goal was clear.

Meanwhile, Thunder had raced through most of the course in no time. But as he neared the last leg of the path, he thought, That snail is probably still crawling out of the meadow. I have plenty of time.

Confident and a little bored, he stopped to graze near a patch of clover and then decided to rest under a shady tree. Soon, the wind lulled him to sleep.

The Quiet Climb

Through the night, Silas pressed on. He passed rustling bushes and glowing fireflies, crossed damp logs and tiny brooks. His shell grew heavier, and the air chilled, but he never stopped.

By morning, Thunder woke up with a jolt. Realizing he had overslept, he sprang to his hooves and dashed toward the finish line.

But as he rounded the last bend, something caught his eye.

There, just inches from the finish line, was Silas — tiny, tired, but moving. One inch, then another.

Thunder skidded to a stop, stunned. The animals, gathered near the old oak tree, gasped in disbelief.

Silas inched forward once more… and touched the base of the oak tree.

The forest erupted in cheers. Thunder trotted up slowly, humbled and quiet. He looked down at the little snail and said, “You… you really did it.”

Silas smiled gently and replied, “I may not be fast, but I never stopped.”

The Lesson

That day, the forest learned a valuable lesson. Speed is a gift, but steady effort and determination can go just as far — sometimes even farther. Thunder learned humility, and Silas earned everyone’s respect.

From that day on, Thunder still galloped with pride, but he never laughed at the slow or the small. And Silas, though he never moved any faster, walked taller in his own quiet way.

And so, in a valley where speed once ruled, it was patience that made history.

The End.

short story

About the Creator

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  • Luna9 months ago

    No one is born good at something, and no one knows how to do it from the very beginning. Everyone is striving for their own goals. There will be confusion, anxiety, and being at a loss. But life is for us to experience and immerse ourselves in the things we love, and go all out. No matter what the result is, the process is a kind of enjoyment. When we don't shine, we are all preparing to shine That's very good!

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