In the abyss of time, there lay a forest whose name was Abundant Rain and Pristine Serenity. It was home to all sorts of animals and creatures.
In a distant corner, beavers were building a dam rivaled in brilliance only by the busy hives of bees.
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Elsewhere, a bird sang a joyful tune only it could hear, while gently guiding a herd of wild animals to a faraway haven.
Meanwhile, a group of lumberjacks and hunters set their sights on the areas recently vacated by the animals. They were determined to illegally cut down as many trees as possible, then colonize the region through a symbiotic deal: the lumberjacks would share in the hunters’ game, and the hunters would receive wooden homes in return.
All this came at the expense of the displaced animals, who had just reached the promised land.
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The group slowly began to realize—after much delay caused by the bird’s distractions—that their gathering was but a mockery. Yet they had presumed the bird had good intentions.
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Hyena: Did you bring us here to talk about the forest shrinking?
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Bird: Indeed! What other cause could bring our hearts and hands together but the decay of our cherished home?
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Hyena: Then why all the elaboration and roundabout talk? Just say it—our forest is shrinking day by day, and we are powerless.
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Snake: I, too, bear witness to the vanishing trees. I once stalked prey that would visit the spring near a tree trunk for a few days in a row. When I went there, I found nothing.
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Hyena: And what replaced it?
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Snake: Nothing more than the remains of a stump.
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At this point, the bird wanted to distract them from blaming the lumberjacks. So he crafted a tale from the fruits of his imagination to delay their realization of the truth.
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Bird: The stump remains! Then it must be the Sultabugh!
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Animals (in one shocked voice): The Sultabugh?!
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Bird: Who else rips out trees and leaves only the stump behind as evidence of their crime?
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Animals: That doesn’t satisfy our curiosity. Who or what is the Sultabugh?
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Bird (after brief thought): It’s an invasive species that migrated here from the forests of Sind. When I first noticed a few of them, I chose to oppose them, believing them to be weak. I never realized they multiplied like fire through dry grass, nor did I imagine their devastation of the trees.
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Lion (roaring): So you, of all creatures, are the last to learn of this invader?!
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Bird: Calm your fluffed mane, O Lion of the Amber District. This is not your territory. In fact, we honor you by inviting you here.
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Lion (embarrassed, but still proud): Curse your bitter lands! I honored you by accepting your invitation!
(He leaves.)
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The idea of refutation was far from the animals’ minds. Their focus narrowed to chasing a phantom—some strange creature they had never seen—yet their claws and fangs tore at the earth. With a single command from the bird—a command that seemed like leadership but was, in fact, deception—they all scattered in pursuit of the phantom.
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The only soul left behind was the bird, basking alone for a few minutes before he too left, lost in the prideful haze that follows a storm—the storm of achievement.
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Two nights passed at the gathering place, each alike in circumstances.
Finally, the spell of hesitation broke as a documentary film crew arrived and took their place in the clearing, now transformed into a field flooded with cameras.
They documented a spider as it pulled its prey from its web and played with it in a strange manner. One of the newcomers pointed excitedly:
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Newcomer: Look at the spider! It plays with the butterfly but does not harm it!
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Crew (enthusiastically): A documentary first! Let’s hope this play does not end in a kill!
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But of course, it did. The play ended in death.
"Could this be sadism manifesting in an insect?"
"What scientific explanation lies behind this behavior?"
Such questions flickered through the minds of the ten young documentarians.
Some began taking notes. Others watched in intense focus.
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Two nights—three—then the creatures gathered at a distant hill. The dam collapsed under the weight of truth.
The traitor’s feathers were plucked. At first, they had humored him, ignored his madness and lies. But now, he was beheaded and featherless.
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In a swift ceremony, the Lion of the Amber District declared the unification of his land with the land of Aluqm. He made vows, oaths, and roared in majestic glory. He followed with a proclamation:
"I have slain the traitor. I have buried the lie and will soon bury its guardian. Let this cursed bird be a lesson to all.
As for my kingdom—I shall win the hearts of its people. Entrust its fate to me!"
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And off went the lion, diving into a scouting mission, leaving the animals weeping in joy at their fortune.
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But the lion never returned.
The animals were trapped in a dilemma—none dared to speak it, but the clatter of tools and anxious glances revealed all too clearly their growing concern for their missing leader.
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Just as hope was fading, the documentary crew returned. They had not yet found answers to satisfy their curiosity. They decided that to know, one must walk the path—truth, to them, was a treasure only uncovered by active pursuit.
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Mind faced instinct.
The mindful chose empathy, despite knowing their careers might fade if they chose to help suffering creatures instead of documenting their pain.
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So the hungry were fed. The weak were strengthened. The dead were buried with dignity.
The lion never returned.
No one really cared anymore. “The law of the jungle,” as one crew member called it—he who had studied the sadistic spider—was the first and final authority.
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"How can you cast doom on such an innocent creature?"
...whispered a documentarian, before the anaconda clamped down on him in rage:
"Our savage law is a civilized way of life. Traitors are put to death!"
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His mind refused to finish the debate. He figured staying alive in one piece was better.
And so he screamed, without pretense:
"I withdraw my article! I withdraw my article!"
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Darkness fell. Night reined in its bridle, and the moon gently lit the sleeping souls.
Bodies lay together, humans and animals alike, in peace and quiet.
Even as the sound of saws, chopping, and axes drew near—sleep persisted.
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Then the leader of the lumberjacks woke the filmmakers and urged them to flee with them, far from the beasts.
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Before answering, the sleepy crew ran some quick mental calculations.
Strange creatures, indeed!
How could half-awake minds realize they were abandoning their livelihood in exchange for sympathy to beasts who would, in the end, be just fine?
They pulled themselves together and agreed.
They chose betrayal, and reclaimed their original goal: income.
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They boarded the bus—
For the first time, not a film bus for either group.
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It drove away... away from a crowd surrounded by hunters on all sides.
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Crew (mocking): "The law of the jungle! The law of the jungle! The law of the jun—"
And their voices faded...
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In the story’s conclusion, the hill bore witness to corpses—some carried on shoulders, others tied to the front of motorcycles.
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Lion (emerging from nowhere):
“It was the hunters and the scheming lumberjacks—they fled...
My success in thwarting their plan was a mere one percent.
But had there been any counter-plan, any opposition,
Would even that one percent have stood a chance against it if it had been genius?”
(With hope and brightness)
"But as long as the animal clings to the familiar, it will never embrace the new."
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And he walked away, regretting he hadn't interrogated the bird or imprisoned him.
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All that remained were spiders scurrying back and forth, catching flies...
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