The Honest Woodcutter

WOODCUTTER: I’m, I have.

The woodcutter recovered from his shock, scooping up the three children.

WOODCUTTER: This will never happen again.



The woodcutter deposited the babies into the crib. He pondered the nature of the metal babies: do they eat normal foods, or minerals? Do they need to eat at all? How could he afford to feed all these mouths?

For an instant, the thought of selling the babies came to mind. It was dispelled just as quickly. They squirmed with the same innocence as the living baby, and selling a god’s gift was taboo.



The flesh baby screamed that their space had been invaded. The metal babies shrieked in chorus, sympathising.

WOODCUTTER: *sigh*



The woodcutter got to work building a fence, and thought of plans for a second and third crib. His labour occupied the rest of the day.



Light dwindled, dusk approached.

The woodcutter thought of consulting the townsfolk about his new children.

WOODCUTTER: A child of gold or silver is unheard of; I can’t imagine my neighbours would understand.
WOODCUTTER: Although, I will have to pick up more food tomorrow. And possibly hire a nanny...
WOODCUTTER: I should feed my children and put them to bed. Then I’ll have time to work on a crib.



The woodcutter turned, hearing a voice singing faintly from the river.

^{......... ???: ♪ Bend, river bend, river lend me your gold ♪}
???: ♪ Bend, river bend, river lend me your gold ♫
_{......... ???: ♫ Bend, river bend, river lend me your gold ♫}