It was the kind of heat that bakes the ground till it cracks and makes everything feel slower, except for one ant. Oridzin. Tiny guy, legs always moving like he was late for something. He’d been hunting crumbs since sunrise and was finally taking a break at the river. Thirsty wasn’t the word—he was parched. Bent over the edge, drinking like his life depended on it, and then, slip. One slick rock and he was in. Gone. Splashed right into the current, and suddenly, all that energy turned into panic. “Help!” he squeaked, legs flailing, water rushing around him like he didn’t even matter. No one was around. No backup. Just him, struggling, swallowing more water than air, and thinking, Well, this might be it.
Up in a crooked old tree nearby, a Dove sat. Wings half open, head tilted. She’d been watching the water, doing her own thing, when she caught sight of the chaos below. One second she was grooming, next she was locked in—eyes on the little ant drowning in front of her. No hesitation. She yanked a broad leaf from the branch with her beak and dropped it straight into the current. It hit the water and drifted right toward Oridzin like it had a mission. He clambered on, coughing, limbs shaking, hanging on like hell while the leaf cruised him to shore. He made it. Barely. Soaked and gasping, but alive. “You saved me!” he shouted up, voice cracking. The Dove gave a slow blink, then a soft, cool, “Glad you’re alright, little guy.” They shared this quick moment—him standing there dripping, her perched above—and then they went back to life. But something stuck.
Days passed. Life moved. But that tree? Still there. That dove? Still using it like her personal watchtower. Oridzin was nearby again, dragging a crumb nearly his size like it was nothing. He liked working. He liked moving. Then he froze.
Something felt off.
In the brush, half-hidden, was a man. Big. Slow. Intentional. Bow in hand. And his eyes were locked onto the dove. The arrow was already being drawn back. This wasn’t a maybe—this was about to happen.
Oridzin didn’t think. He just ran. Legs kicking like fire, he charged straight at the man’s ankle and bit down with everything he had. Hard.
The man screamed, dropped the bow, the arrow flew somewhere else—wide and harmless. The dove launched upward, feathers ruffled, startled but unharmed. By the time the hunter stopped swearing and stomping and disappeared, it was just Oridzin and the dove again. Same place. Different moment.
She landed beside him, eyes still wide. “That was close,” she said.
He shrugged. “You helped me. I helped you. Feels right.”
From that day on, they stuck close. She kept the skies covered. He watched the ground. Two very different creatures, keeping each other safe. Not because they had to. But because something real had formed in between.
No drama. No lesson is spelled out in glitter.
Just one good turn. Returned.
Moral: Do good. Not for credit. Just because it’s good.
