The Honest Woodcutter

A woodcutter and his beautiful child lived in a log cabin on the edge of a dark forest. A large river flowed through, its black currents concealing its depths.



The woodcutter cried in alarm as he saw his child fall into the river. Rushing, he went to the riverside.



But he was too late. The child was gone without trace, sucked into the river's currents. He knew that the death of his only offspring weighed on his shoulders: he should have been more attentive, or kept the child inside. In despair, the woodcutter cried out out for help.

WOODCUTTER: Help, someone!



As a whirlwind of water rose, a face and limbs could be discerned. In its hands were two hunks of precious metal. This massive presence was unmistakably the god of the river.

RIVER GOD: I heard your cries mortal, and I have rescued your child from my currents. Now, was your child this gold baby, or this silver baby?

The man focused on the forms held by the god. They wriggled. They really were babies of solid gold and silver! The man was perplexed.

WOODCUTTER: No, neither of these are my baby. Please, they are of flesh and bones and blood- they look like me.

The river god sprouted a third limb, displaying the woodcutter’s child.

WOODCUTTER: Yes, yes! There they are!

The river god smiled.

RIVER GOD: A lesser man would have claimed the gold or silver baby as their own. As a reward for your honesty, I shall give you all three.

WOODCUTTER: Huh?



The wet form of the god released, and as the loose water crashed down onto the woodcutter and flowed back into the river, not one but three children crawled at its edge.