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that I am a bird with wings and may not abide with you always, because that is not of my nature. For a bird, being a winged creature, may not remain still, except it be for the sake of sleep at night; but, as soon as it is day, he flies away and seeks his food in what place soever pleases him.” “True,” answered the tortoise. “Nevertheless he who hath wings hath no repose at most seasons, for that the good he getteth is not a fourth part of the trouble that betideth him, and the best of all the things for which one striveth is ease of life and contentment. Now God hath appointed love and fellowship between us and thee and we fear for thee, lest some of thine enemies catch thee and thou perish and we be denied the sight of thy face.” “Thou sayst sooth,” rejoined the heathcock; “but how dost thou counsel me to do?” Quoth the tortoise, “My advice is that thou pluck out thy wing-feathers, wherewith thou speedest thy flight, and abide with us in peace, eating of our meat and drinking of our drink in this pasturage, that aboundeth in trees laden with ripe fruits, and thou and we, we will sojourn in this fruitful place and enjoy each other’s company.”
The heathcock inclined to her speech, seeking ease for himself, and plucked out his wing-feathers, one by one, in accordance with the tortoise’s counsel; then he took up his abode with them and contented himself with the little ease and passing pleasure he enjoyed. Presently up came a weasel and looking at the heathcock, saw that his wings were plucked, so that he could not fly, whereat he was mightily rejoiced and said in himself, “Verily yonder heathcock is fat and scant of feather.” So he went up to him and seized him, whereupon the heathcock called out to the tortoises for help; but, when they saw the weasel seize him, they drew apart from him and huddled together, choked with weeping for him, for they saw the beast torture him. Quoth the heathcock, “Is there aught but
