The Fox and the Crow

The Fox and the Crow

In a dense, sun-dappled forest where the trees whispered secrets and the wind carried scents of berries and wildflowers, there lived a crow named Corvin. Corvin was proud of his glossy black feathers, which shone like polished onyx in the sunlight. He often perched high in the treetops, cawing loudly to announce his presence, and all the forest creatures admired him for his beauty and commanding voice.

But along with his pride came a certain vanity. Corvin loved to be noticed, and he took great delight in showing off. Every day, he would fly from tree to tree, displaying his feathers to the other birds, and sometimes, he would even sing to himself, thinking that his melodious voice could charm anyone who heard it.

One fine morning, Corvin found a piece of cheese lying on a low branch, left by a passing traveler. It was large, creamy, and smelled delicious. He had never seen such a treat before, and his pride swelled. “Ah,” he thought, “not only am I the most beautiful and clever of all crows, but now I have found the finest food in the forest. How I shall savor this, and how all shall admire me!”

As Corvin lifted the cheese in his beak, a sly pair of eyes watched him from the underbrush. A fox, named Fenn, had been roaming the forest in search of an easy meal. Fenn was cunning, with a reddish coat that blended perfectly with the fallen leaves and an intelligence that rivaled the oldest owls. The fox had learned long ago that flattery and trickery often worked better than chasing prey.

“Ah, what do we have here?” Fenn whispered to himself. “A crow with a treasure in his beak. And look at him—so proud, so vain! This should be far easier than chasing rabbits or digging for berries.”

Fenn slowly approached the tree where Corvin perched. He sat at the base, looking up and smiling with just the right mixture of admiration and cunning.

“Good morning, noble crow!” Fenn called, his voice smooth like flowing water. “What a magnificent bird you are! Surely the forest has never seen such a splendid creature.”

Corvin puffed up his chest, pleased by the praise. “Indeed,” he thought, “even the fox recognizes my glory. No one can resist admiring me.”

Fenn continued, “I have heard tales of your beauty, but seeing it with my own eyes is far more wonderful than I imagined. And that voice! Surely you sing as well as you shine. Would you honor me with a song, dear crow?”

Corvin’s pride bubbled over. “A song? Me? Oh, certainly! I will show you that no bird in this forest can match my voice.” And with that, he opened his beak to caw loudly and melodiously, forgetting entirely about the cheese he held.

Down below, Fenn’s eyes gleamed. As Corvin’s beak opened, the cheese slipped from his grasp, falling like a golden raindrop straight into the fox’s waiting paws.

“Ah, thank you, dear crow!” Fenn said, scooping up the prize. “Your song is truly delightful, but I do so enjoy a snack while listening!” And with a flick of his tail, he vanished into the trees, leaving Corvin stunned and empty-beaked.

Corvin’s feathers ruffled, and he hopped from branch to branch, cawing angrily. “How dare he! I am the great Corvin, and he has tricked me?!”

For several days, Corvin sulked in his tree. But as he brooded, he realized something important: his pride had blinded him. Fenn had simply used flattery and wit to outsmart him. And the crow, despite his beauty and voice, had fallen for it.

Determined not to be outdone again, Corvin decided to be clever. He noticed that Fenn often strutted near the forest edge, seeking food and enjoying his reputation for trickery. The crow waited until the fox had a piece of bread in his mouth, left carelessly near a human campsite. Then, silently and swiftly, Corvin swooped down, snatching the bread and lifting it high into the treetops, just out of Fenn’s reach.

Fenn jumped and barked with frustration, but he could not catch the nimble crow. Corvin cawed loudly, showing off both the bread and his triumph, while Fenn slunk back into the shadows, realizing he had been outwitted.

From that day on, Corvin was no longer just proud of his feathers and voice; he became proud of his wit as well. And the other animals learned a valuable lesson, too: flattery and trickery could deceive the proud, but intelligence and cleverness could triumph over cunning.

The fox, though still sly, learned to respect the crow, for he now understood that pride could be both a weakness and a lesson. And Corvin, though he still admired his own beauty, never again let vanity blind him to danger or allow him to underestimate others.

Moral of the Story

Pride can blind you, but wit and intelligence can overcome even the craftiest of tricksters.