Tola the Little Dragon and the Wind's Song

In autumn, big winds blow over the river Vistula. They push grey waves along the water, bend the willows, and tug the last yellow leaves off the poplars.

In the sandy bank above the river there is a cave. In the cave there is a soft bed of moss, and on the bed lies a little dragon called Tola. Mum sleeps at the back of the cave, curled up in a big green ring. Grown-up dragons sleep very deeply; not even a thunderstorm wakes them.

But Tola wasn't asleep. Because the wind had come.

"Oooooo!" it howled at the entrance.

"Hic!" went Tola. And golden sparks tumbled from her nose. Tola's sparks don't burn — they're warm, like sunbeams on a wall. But when there are lots of them, it means Tola is worried.

Oooo, howls the wind. Hic! goes Tola.

First, Tola burrowed into the moss, head and all. It was dark in there and smelled of the forest. But the wind howled right through the moss: oooooo! And the moss got up her nose and tickled. Hic! Hic! Sparks jumped out of the moss like grasshoppers.

Oooo, howls the wind. Hic! goes Tola.

So Tola scrambled out, stood up on her back legs, stuck out her tummy and growled at the wind: "Grrr! Go away! This is my cave!"

But the wind only howled louder: "OOOOOO!"

And Tola hiccuped so hard she nearly sat down on her own tail. Hic!

Oooo, howls the wind. Hic! goes Tola.

So Tola decided to out-sing the wind. She sang the loudest song she knew: "La-la-LA! La-la-LA-LA!"

She sang and sang until her voice went thin and squeaky, like an old garden gate. And the wind howled and howled. It didn't get tired at all.

Oooo, howls the wind. Hic! goes Tola.

Tola sat down on a stone. She had no puff left for growling or singing. She just hiccuped — hic! — and the sparks floated up, right to the roof of the cave.

And then Tola saw something she had never noticed before.

In the roof there was a little hole — round, the size of a hazelnut. And in the wall there was a narrow crack, like a letterbox. The wind flew in through the hole, ran all the way round the cave, and flew out again. When it blew across the round hole, it made a low "oooo". When it blew through the narrow crack, it made a thin "eeee".

"It's a pipe!" whispered Tola. "Our cave plays like a fujarka!"

In the summer, at the fair by the river, Tola had seen a fujarka — a wooden shepherd's pipe with finger holes. The shepherd boy covered the holes with his fingers, and the pipe sang a different note every time.

Tola went over to the crack and covered it with her tail. "Oooo," sang the cave, low. Tola moved her tail away. "Eeee," sang the cave, high. Tail — paw. Paw — tail. Oo — ee — oooo!

The wind blew, and Tola covered and uncovered the holes. The wind was the breath, and Tola was the fingers. Together they made a song. A real one. A little bit like Mum's lullaby.

From the back of the cave came a sleepy voice: "Who's playing so beautifully?"

"Me and the wind," said Tola.

Mum smiled without opening her eyes, and went back to sleep.

And suddenly Tola noticed she wasn't hiccuping any more. Not at all. The wind was the same wind, and it howled just as loudly. But now Tola knew where the sound came from. And when you know where a sound comes from, it becomes a song.

Tomorrow I'll play it for Jeżyk, Lisiczka and Wiewiórka, she thought. She climbed back into her moss and tucked her tail over her nose. The wind played the cave softly: oo-ee, oo-ee. Down below, the Vistula whispered. The last spark circled under the roof and went out.

Oooo, sings the wind. And Tola sleeps.