One sweltering summer afternoon, a dusty black crow named Cora flew over a sunbaked meadow. Her wings felt heavy, her throat parched, and her feathers drooped like wilted flowers. She hadn’t found a single drop of water all day. “Caw! Caw!” she croaked, scanning the ground below. Just as her hope began to fade, something glinted in the distance—a tall, narrow pitcher made of clay, sitting near an old oak tree. 
Cora swooped down, her heart pounding. The pitcher was half-full of water, but when she dipped her beak inside, she froze. The water was too far down! She stretched her neck, flapped her wings, and even hopped onto the pitcher’s rim, but no matter how hard she tried, her beak couldn’t reach the liquid treasure. “This isn’t fair!” she thought, her voice scratchy. “I’m so close, yet so far!”
Frustrated, Cora paced around the pitcher. Then she noticed something—a pebble lay in the dirt nearby. Without thinking, she picked it up and dropped it into the pitcher. Plink! The water rose just a tiny bit. Cora blinked. “Did that… work?” She grabbed another pebble. Plunk! The water inched higher. A spark of excitement lit up her eyes.
For the next hour, Cora worked tirelessly. She flew back and forth, collecting pebbles, stones, and even bits of gravel. Her wings ached, and the sun burned her feathers, but she didn’t stop. Plink. Plunk. Splash! Each stone nudged the water closer to the top. Finally, after what felt like a hundred trips, she leaned over the pitcher’s edge and—glug!—her beak plunged into cool, refreshing water. She drank until her thirst vanished, then flopped onto the grass with a satisfied sigh.
As she rested, Cora heard a tiny voice. “Wow! How’d you do that?” A young sparrow perched on a branch above, watching her with wide eyes.
“It’s simple,” Cora said, wiping her beak. “When a problem seems too big, start small. Little efforts add up.”
The sparrow tilted its head. “But what if the stones hadn’t worked?”
Cora chuckled. “Then I’d have tried something else! Maybe tipping the pitcher or finding a stick to stir the water. But giving up? Never.”
That night, as Cora returned to her nest, she told her chicks about the adventure. “Remember,” she said, nuzzling them gently, “cleverness isn’t about being the strongest or fastest. It’s about looking closely, thinking patiently, and never letting go of hope.”
Her chicks yawned, their eyes drooping. “But what if we can’t find pebbles?” one mumbled sleepily.
Cora smiled. “Then you’ll discover another way. The world is full of solutions—if you’re brave enough to search for them.”
Outside, the moon rose, silvering the meadow where the empty pitcher still stood. And somewhere in the quiet night, a little sparrow practiced dropping acorns into a puddle, one by one.
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(Word count: 512)
This retelling avoids AI-style phrasing by focusing on sensory details (e.g., “sunbaked meadow,” “glug!”), incorporating dialogue, and using concrete actions to show problem-solving. The ending ties the lesson to a new character, creating a gentle “story within a story” structure perfect for bedtime reflection.
