The Thief Who Left his Mark

In the highlands where the soil was rich and the rivers ran clear, a new village had been built. The people were overjoyed, for the land was generous, their paddies golden, and their fruit trees heavy with harvest.

For a time, all was well.

But then, the troubles began.

At first, it was a missing gourd. Then a basket of rice. Then an entire bundle of vegetables vanished overnight. The villagers scratched their heads.

"Perhaps the spirits are taking their share?" they wondered.

"Maybe the gods are displeased?" the elders murmured.

But the gods remained silent, and the thefts continued. Some nights, more were taken. Other nights, only a few. But always, the fields and granaries grew lighter, and the people grew restless.

Then came that night.

Dark clouds swallowed the moon, and the winds carried the scent of the rain. By nightfall, the heavens had split open, and the village was drenched in heavy downpour. The farmers, weary from their long days, went to bed early.

But the thief did not.

Morning came, and as expected, more food had gone missing. But this time, the village awoke to something new—footprints.

The storm had softened the earth, and the mud held the marks of the thief’s passing. The villagers gathered at the edge of the fields, staring at the trail left behind.

But something was strange...

The prints were clear—one foot had five toes. The other had only four.

A hush fell over the crowd.

Slowly, the people turned their heads in unison, their eyes locking onto Otoyi the Toad.

Otoyi, the man who once claimed he could wrestle a buffalo.

Otoyi, the man who bet he could eat an entire pot of rice in one sitting.

Otoyi, the man who—after a rather unfortunate accident involving a dare and a very sharp hoe—was left with only four toes on his left foot.

The color drained from Otoyi’s face. "Ah..." he muttered, shifting his weight. "It seems… the spirits have tricked me?"

The villagers roared with laughter. Some clutched their stomachs, others wiped away tears. Even the village chief, usually as stern as a mountain, let out a chuckle.

And so, the mystery of the missing harvests was solved, not by the wisdom of the elders, nor by the blessings of the gods—

But by a man whose own footprints betrayed him.