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Father and Son
Once upon a time in a quiet tribe far in the steppes of Beltimore lived a father and a son, both of them were born and grew up there.
You see, my dear reader, they were very close, those father and son, couldn't get closer than that, even though the father, a hunter by profession, would often go hunting for the high-hanging fruits and had to leave his son in the hands of his various sweethearts.
Any long absence would tear the father's heart apart. In the deep forest he would often have imaginary talks with his son.
And the son, named Frin, though everybody called him Weasel (how he got this moniker is a separate and funny story, but in essence it was all about that long, remarkably flexible body on disproportionately short legs)... So, the son was happy whenever his daddy was back to play with him, but the dad was still way young. He wanted to bring in mares and love them hard and loud. It wasn't easy, believe me.
And he wanted a better future for his son, too. Alas, centaurs rarely leave the steppes and little they know that their bendy skills that they practice just for fun, as a kid's game, could help putting food on the table if shown to certain audiences.
And then the father got some perfect guidance from a gypsy, who was very surprised to see Weasel fooling around in poses worth bags of gold, while his neigh-bors weren't paying any attention, as if it was nothing but a kid playing with leaves in a puddle.
The father quickly figured it out. Made some connections. In a couple of months the entire caravanserai of Hudja talked about Weasel and his gorgeous dad. They performed every day, only gathering a bigger crowd.
So what's the point of this curious fable? Not every pile of broken glass contains a hidden diamond, but when it's there, it won't jump out by itself.
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