Page 108 - Animals of the Sakhalin Region in myths and legends

The stepmother was silent, as if she had not herad her.
— Give me something to eat! — The little girl asked.
— Get away from the table! — Was the answer.
— Give me something to eat! — The little girl asked.
— Leave me alone! — Was the answer.
— Leave me alone! — Was the answer.
The girl’s tummy was completely tightened. Hunger sucked her so much that she
held out hand for a pink piece. When her hand touched the yukola, her stepmother
stabbed her with a sharp knife. The fingertips remained on the table. The girl ran
away to a warm sandy hillock and began to cry loudly. Blood trickled down from her
fingers.
The girl sobbed:
— Ky-ky, ky-ky!
At this time, swans were flying over the bay. They heard the voice of a crying girl
and made a circle. Then they sat down next to her, surrounded her and watched her.
When they noticed that blood was flowing from her fingers, they felt very sorry for
the poor girl. The pity of the birds was so great that tears came to their eyes. The
swans wept in silence. Tears dripped like dewdrops onto the sand. And where the
swans were sitting, the sand became wet with tears. The large white birds were crying
harder and harder, and suddenly a voice came through them:
— Ky-ky, ky-ky, ky-ky!
Hearing their voices, the girl’s father ran out of the house, saw that his daughter
was surrounded swans lived, rushed for a bow and arrow: he wanted to kill big birds.
The swans flapped their wings. At the same moment, the girl’s wings grew from her
shoulders — she turned into a slender swan with red legs. When the hunter ran out of
the house, a flock of swans had already risen into the sky.
In the very middle of the flock a young bird was flying. All the swans shouted:
— Ky-ky, ky-ky, ky-ky!
Only the young bird was silent.
The hunter grabbed his head and shouted after the fleeing flock:
— Daughter! Come back! You will live well!
The only response was:
— Ky-ky, ky-ky, ky-ky!
Father stood for a long time at the house and, slouched over, sadly looked at the
flock. Soon they melted into the azure distance.
Every spring, swans flew over the camp by the bay. And crying loudly: «Ky-ky,
kyky, ky-ky!» Only one bird was silent. And each time the swans, flying over the camp,
saw far below the figure of a man standing alone on a hillock.
Much time has passed since then. And in the place where a lonely man once stood,
a dumpy larch has grown. Neither fog nor winds can bring it down. And it stands,
leaning towards noon, raising its branches-arms into the sky. And swans with red
legs, flying from north to south or from south to north, are sure to wrap themselves up
to this larch and cry loudly:
— Ky-ky, ky-ky, ky-ky!

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