Olga the Owl, Sem the Wanderer and the Dragon of Truth
In the heart of a dense forest, not far from the great Northern Lake, lived Olga, an owl with gray feathers and ever-awake eyes.
Olga was famous for only one thing: she always lied.
Not malicious lies, she said. Just small adjustments. She said she saw a bear dancing under the moon, that he talked to wolves, and that his feathers changed color when it snowed.
At first, the other animals listened with wide eyes. But over time, they stopped believing her.
"It's just Olga," they said. "She's pretending. She exaggerates. She adds a little sugar everywhere."
But one night, something different happened.
The sky was full of fleeing stars, and the wind whispered loudly through the branches, as if searching for someone. Olga, awake as always, heard a faint sound: a cry. She flew high, and through the trees she saw a scene that chilled her beak: a little deer had slipped into an old, frozen well and couldn't get out.
Olga didn't hesitate. She flew to the animal village.
"Help! A deer is in danger! It fell into a well!"
The badgers yawned. The hedgehogs turned away.
"Another of your pranks, Olga?" said the old fox.
"Swear it's true," said an owl.
And Olga swore. And she cried. And she called for help. But no one listened to her anymore.
It was then that, from the forest, a silent figure emerged. She had long hair braided with wildflowers and slow but confident steps. It was Sem, the wanderer of the lake, and at her side walked a dragon with scales that shone like ice in the sun.
Sem approached Olga and spoke softly:
"Did they leave you alone?"
Olga lowered her gaze.
"I've told too many lies. Now that I'm telling the truth, no one believes me."
Sem nodded slowly.
"Sometimes you tell a lie so as not to hurt others. Other times you pretend to mind your own business, and meanwhile you say it's to 'protect others.' But even light lies, if they grow too long, cast a shadow. And they end up destroying trust."
The dragon then approached the well. He blew his warm breath on the ice, which melted like sugar in tea. Then, with his strong, gentle wings, he lifted the fawn and placed it among the leaves.
The little one trembled, but he was safe.
Sem knelt beside Olga and touched her chest with the tip of his finger.
"The truth is sometimes scary, but it doesn't weigh. It's like a lantern in the darkness: it shines for everyone, even for you."
The dragon touched Olga's chest with his nose. A dark feather broke away. Beneath it, a small but true light shone.
From that day on, Olga spoke less. But every word was like a gem: precious, listened to.
And when she told a story, even the badgers, the hedgehogs, and the old fox stopped.
Because now they knew: that owl was telling the truth.
Moral:
Lies may seem like warm blankets. But the truth is the only embrace that never breaks.
Olga was famous for only one thing: she always lied.
Not malicious lies, she said. Just small adjustments. She said she saw a bear dancing under the moon, that he talked to wolves, and that his feathers changed color when it snowed.
At first, the other animals listened with wide eyes. But over time, they stopped believing her.
"It's just Olga," they said. "She's pretending. She exaggerates. She adds a little sugar everywhere."
But one night, something different happened.
The sky was full of fleeing stars, and the wind whispered loudly through the branches, as if searching for someone. Olga, awake as always, heard a faint sound: a cry. She flew high, and through the trees she saw a scene that chilled her beak: a little deer had slipped into an old, frozen well and couldn't get out.
Olga didn't hesitate. She flew to the animal village.
"Help! A deer is in danger! It fell into a well!"
The badgers yawned. The hedgehogs turned away.
"Another of your pranks, Olga?" said the old fox.
"Swear it's true," said an owl.
And Olga swore. And she cried. And she called for help. But no one listened to her anymore.
It was then that, from the forest, a silent figure emerged. She had long hair braided with wildflowers and slow but confident steps. It was Sem, the wanderer of the lake, and at her side walked a dragon with scales that shone like ice in the sun.
Sem approached Olga and spoke softly:
"Did they leave you alone?"
Olga lowered her gaze.
"I've told too many lies. Now that I'm telling the truth, no one believes me."
Sem nodded slowly.
"Sometimes you tell a lie so as not to hurt others. Other times you pretend to mind your own business, and meanwhile you say it's to 'protect others.' But even light lies, if they grow too long, cast a shadow. And they end up destroying trust."
The dragon then approached the well. He blew his warm breath on the ice, which melted like sugar in tea. Then, with his strong, gentle wings, he lifted the fawn and placed it among the leaves.
The little one trembled, but he was safe.
Sem knelt beside Olga and touched her chest with the tip of his finger.
"The truth is sometimes scary, but it doesn't weigh. It's like a lantern in the darkness: it shines for everyone, even for you."
The dragon touched Olga's chest with his nose. A dark feather broke away. Beneath it, a small but true light shone.
From that day on, Olga spoke less. But every word was like a gem: precious, listened to.
And when she told a story, even the badgers, the hedgehogs, and the old fox stopped.
Because now they knew: that owl was telling the truth.
Moral:
Lies may seem like warm blankets. But the truth is the only embrace that never breaks.
