Corvin the Crow and the Spoiled Pile

Chapter 1: Hoarding more than we need doesn't make us richer. It can spoil, and it leaves us alone

In an orchard on the edge of Windy Hollow, where the apple trees leaned together like old friends, there lived a crow named Corvin.

Corvin was glossy black, with sharp eyes and a very sharp opinion about what belonged to him.

Which was everything.

"Mine," he said about the fallen apples. "Mine," he said about the seeds in the meadow. "Mine," he said about the crumbs from the farmer's picnic, though he had not been invited and the farmer had not noticed him.

He never took only what he needed. He took everything he could carry, and then he went back for more.

In the same orchard lived a flock of sparrows. They were small and brown and chattery, and they had very little. Each morning they hopped through the grass, searching for whatever they could find.

But sparrows have a custom. When one finds something, they all share it.

"Seeds by the fence!" a sparrow would chirp, and everyone came running.

"A fat apple fell by the well!" another would call, and soon a crowd of beaks pecked happily at the sweet fruit, taking turns, leaving the biggest pieces for the youngest.

"There's enough for everyone," said Old Mother Sparrow, "so long as everyone takes a fair share."