Ermine and the hunter

Ermine and the hunter

Far in the north, where winter covers the ground with deep snow, lived an experienced hunter with his family.

He knew the forest well. He could read tracks in snow, sense a change in the wind before the branches swayed, and find his way home even through mist.

But he had one weakness: when something did not go according to plan, he sometimes got angry first, and then thought.

One autumn day, the family made thick, sweet syrup and left it to cool beside their storehouse. It was meant to last a long time.

At night, three young bear cubs approached the dwelling.

Drawn by the sweet scent, they peered into the storehouse and found a jug of syrup.

By morning, there were sticky footprints by the door, overturned bowls, and three very happy bear faces far away among the trees.

The hunter saw the mess and became angry.

“This is too much!” he exclaimed. “Today syrup, tomorrow the whole pantry!”

He set up a sturdy enclosure as a trap nearby, hoping to catch the cubs and frighten them into staying away.

The next morning, two little cubs did indeed end up inside. They were not hurt, but they were very scared and called out loudly for their mother.

The hunter heard them crying, and his anger immediately subsided.

“No, this is wrong,” he told himself. “They are only little. I should have stored our food more carefully instead of frightening them.”

He opened the enclosure and freed the cubs.

But it was too late.

Their mother stood at the forest’s edge, a great bear known as Stoneheart. She was not naturally wicked. But when angry, she grew as stubborn as a rock.

The bear saw the frightened cubs and decided that the hunter wanted to harm them.

From then on, she began to come to his dwelling almost every evening.

Now she would knock over the basket of berries.

Sometimes she shifted the log propping up the storehouse door.

Now she would sit right in the middle of the path and not let anyone pass.

The hunter tried to speak from afar:

“I’ve already let the cubs go! I don’t want to quarrel with you!”

But Stoneheart only snorted.

Several days passed. The supplies were getting less and less.

“I cannot manage this alone,” the hunter realised. “I must ask for help.”

He went to the wide river.

“Spirit of the River, help me. The bear is coming to our house, and we can’t stop the quarrel.”

The river murmured between the stones.

“I carry water to lakes and marshes,” a quiet voice replied. “I can show you a way, but I cannot leave my channel.”

The hunter gave thanks and continued on his way.

On the hill he turned to the Wind.

“Wind, help me.”

The wind flew over the tops of the pine trees.

“I drive the clouds and dry the wet paths. I can convey words, but I cannot settle the dispute for you.”

Then the hunter looked up at the great dark Cloud.

“Maybe you can help?”

The Cloud thundered somewhere far away:

“I bring rain where the earth waits for water. Look for someone small enough to come close and brave enough to tell the truth.”

The hunter was returning home tired and hungry.

By the path he saw a little old woman. She was sitting on a stump, warming her hands.

“Good evening,” she said. “Could you spare a little food for a traveller?”

The hunter had only a small flatbread left.

He thought of the dwindling supplies at home. Still, he broke the flatbread in half.

“Take it. It’s easier to be hungry together.”

The old woman smiled.

“You made a good choice when it was not easy. So I will give you some advice. Tomorrow morning, don’t rush to grab weapons or traps. The first small animal you meet will be able to help you better than the greatest force.”

She touched his staff, and a silver gleam flashed briefly across the wood.

The hunter blinked.

And the old woman was gone.

The next morning he went out of the house and immediately saw little Ermine.

He was standing on a rock and looking straight at him. His fur was still brown, autumnal.

“Are you the great helper I have been promised?” the hunter asked in surprise.

“Great? No,” Ermine replied. “Helpful? Perhaps.”

The hunter crouched down.

“What do you want for this?”

Ermine thought for a moment.

“Two things. First: promise not to set traps for little bear cubs anymore.”

The hunter nodded.

“I promise.”

“Second: when the snow comes, I want white fur so that I can’t be seen in the snowdrifts.”

The hunter smiled.

“If I knew how to give white fur, I would.”

At that moment, his staff glowed faintly.

Ermine narrowed his eyes.

“Someone seems to have arranged that already. Then we have a bargain.”

He ran into the forest, and the hunter followed.

Soon they found Stoneheart. The bear was standing near an old fallen tree, and her cubs were playing nearby.

Ermine ran closer.

“Hey, Stoneheart!”

The bear turned her head.

“Who is calling me?”

“The one you can barely see.”

“What do you need?”

“I want to see whether you truly are the nimblest bear in the forest.”

The hunter raised his eyebrows in surprise.

The bear snorted.

“Of course, the most agile.”

“Then try to follow me between these two stones.”

Ermine slipped through a narrow gap.

The bear followed, but she was too large. She squeezed her shoulders through and took another step, only to get stuck. She could neither move forwards nor turn back quickly.

“Ermine!” she roared. “That is unfair!”

“Perhaps,” he answered from the other side. “But now you will at least listen before going off to overturn people’s baskets.”

The hunter came closer, but kept his hands down.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” he said. “I was wrong to trap your cubs. They ate our syrup, and I acted in anger without thinking. Then I released them, because I realised they were simply hungry and curious.”

The bear was silent.

“I promise never to trap the cubs again. But please hear me too: when you take our supplies, my family may go hungry.”

One cub approached its mother and gave a little snort.

Stoneheart lowered her head.

“I saw how frightened they were,” she said, “and decided you were an enemy.”

“And I saw the spilled syrup and immediately thought the worst.”

Ermine peeped out from behind a rock.

“You see. The two big ones were so angry that the little one had to explain the obvious.”

The bear even smiled a little.

“Very well. I will leave your storehouse alone.”

“And I will leave your cubs alone,” the hunter replied.

After that, he carefully moved a few stones and helped the bear out.

She could have walked away at once, but first she turned to Ermine.

“You are very small.”

“I have heard that before.”

“And very brave.”

“That is nicer to hear.”

The bear took the cubs and disappeared among the trees.

That night the first snow fell.

The next morning, the hunter stepped outside and saw two black dots in a white snowdrift: Ermine’s eyes. His coat had grown pale, almost snow-white.

“Well, look at that!” the hunter laughed. “Now you really are hard to see.”

Ermine turned this way and that, admiring his coat.

“A good reward for a difficult conversation.”

Since then, the old storytellers said, in the snowy season Ermine wears white fur.

Whenever he grew angry after that, the hunter remembered Stoneheart, the narrow gap between the rocks, and little Ermine.

And before doing anything, he asked himself:

“Have I understood what happened, or have I only had time to get angry?”

This question saved him from new quarrels more than once.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨