At the edge of a dry forest stood a fig tree with a deep stone well beneath it. In the noon heat, the rope hung still and the bucket rested against the wall, while no small creature dared to come near. A lion had taken that place for his own. Each day he lay in the shade with his mane shining as bright as ripe grass, claiming that the whole forest was kept in order simply because he watched it.
The deer went to drink only at dawn, and the hares merely licked dew from the leaves. Even the donkey from the scrub meadow turned away, his empty pail hanging heavily from his neck. One evening, a fox passed under the fig tree and saw the donkey stop at a safe distance. "Why do you not draw water?" asked the fox. The donkey flicked one long ear toward the shade. "Because the lion says the well belongs to his strength."
The fox sat on a flat stone, looking first at the well's dark, round mouth under the leaves, and then at the lion. The great beast was washing one massive paw, glancing proudly at his own reflection in the water bucket. The fox lowered his head politely. "Forest King," he said, "I have come with news that should be heard by no small ears."
The lion lifted his head at once, for he liked news that came wrapped in respect. "Speak," he commanded. The fox stepped closer and kept his …
6 chapters
