The Wolf and the Crane: A Lesson in Ingratitude

In a quiet forest, far from the noisy cities of men, there lived a powerful and cunning wolf named Ravar. Feared by most creatures and admired by none, Ravar ruled a wide swath of land with tooth and claw. He hunted not just for survival, but for dominance, and made no effort to hide his cruelty. The animals knew better than to cross his path.

One warm afternoon, after feasting greedily on a stag he had stolen from a group of lynxes, Ravar began to choke. A sharp bone had lodged deep in his throat. He clawed at his neck, growling and coughing, but the more he struggled, the more the bone dug in.

Desperate and gasping, the once-mighty wolf stumbled through the forest, no longer a predator but a creature on the brink. One by one, the animals he had once terrorized turned their faces away. The badger shut his den, the fox slipped silently into the underbrush, and the owl pretended not to hear his raspy cries.

Only one creature stopped to look—Seren, the crane.

Tall, elegant, and known for her healing ways, Seren was gentle by nature but wise enough to be wary. She had heard tales of Ravar’s cruelty, and yet, when she saw him in pain, her heart softened.

“You must help me,” Ravar rasped, barely able to speak. “There’s a bone... in my throat.”

Seren hesitated. “You have hurt many. Why should I risk helping you?”

Ravar’s eyes, watery and wide with suffering, seemed honest for once. “Please,” he croaked. “Save me, and I promise you safety—anything you want. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

Moved by his plea and her own sense of duty, Seren stepped forward. “Hold still,” she said gently. “Open your jaws wide, and do not bite.”

The wolf lay down, opening his mouth with effort. Seren, with her long neck and slender beak, reached carefully down his throat. She worked slowly, precisely, and finally grasped the bone. With one clean motion, she removed it.

Ravar gasped and coughed—free at last from the stabbing pain. He stood, shook himself, and stretched his limbs. Seren stepped back, expecting at least a word of thanks.

But Ravar only chuckled.

“You should be grateful,” Seren said cautiously, “for I risked my life to help you.”

The wolf sneered. “Grateful? Ha! You stuck your head in a wolf’s mouth and came out alive. That’s reward enough, don’t you think?”

Seren’s feathers ruffled. “You promised safety. You said you'd be in my debt.”

“I said what I had to,” Ravar said coldly. “If you were foolish enough to believe a wolf’s word, that’s not my fault.”

And with that, he turned and loped off into the trees, leaving Seren standing in the dust of betrayal.

Seasons changed, and word of the crane’s act—and the wolf’s ingratitude—spread through the forest. Some pitied Seren, others mocked her for her naïveté. But Seren bore the insult with grace. She did not regret helping, though she mourned the lesson.

Years passed, and fate, as it often does, turned.

A harsh winter gripped the land. Prey was scarce, and Ravar, now older and slower, struggled to find food. One night, while prowling near a frozen stream, he was caught in a hunter’s trap—his leg crushed in steel jaws. He howled in pain, but no help came. The animals remembered his cruelty. They remembered how he had repaid kindness with scorn.

For three days, he lay there, growing weaker. On the fourth day, Seren passed by, her feathers now tinged with age, but her walk still proud. She paused, looking at the once-feared wolf.

“Help me,” Ravar whimpered. “Please.”

Seren looked into his eyes—eyes no longer full of cunning, but fear. “You said my life was reward enough,” she said quietly.

“I was wrong,” he whispered. “Please… I beg you.”

The crane was silent for a long time. Then she turned and walked away.

As the wind stirred the snow around him, Ravar realized his true injury had never been the bone in his throat, but the sickness in his heart—a sickness born of selfishness and pride.

Moral: Kindness is the noblest of gifts, but it should never be mistaken for weakness. Those who repay compassion with betrayal may one day find themselves needing a mercy they no longer deserve.