Every evening, the forest village gathered for storytime. Kiko watched from behind the old oak, not ready to join yet.
A soft *thump*. A baby bird had tumbled from its nest and landed in the wildflower meadow. Kiko's ears flattened. He shrank back into the shadows.
Kiko crept forward. He held out a dandelion puff. The baby bird pecked at it, then fluttered two feet away. His tail twitched.
He tried again. This time he chirped like the baby bird. Its head tilted. Then it hopped right onto his paw.
"Almost there," he breathed. He carried the baby bird carefully toward the nest high in the oak tree.
He reached the nest. Just then, the mother bird returned with a wriggling worm. The baby bird chirped and nuzzled Kiko's cheek.
Kiko stepped back, his paws trembling. Then a chorus called from the village: "Kiko! Tell us!"
Kiko took a deep breath and stepped into the circle. "A baby bird fell today," he began. His voice grew steadier with every word.
When he finished, the animals cheered. Kiko's tail curled happily around his paws. He had done it.
The next evening, Kiko didn't hide behind the oak. He walked right into the circle.
He found a spot near the fire and sat down. The villagers made room without even asking. "Once upon a time," Kiko began, "there was a brave little fox who learned to speak."
And that was Kiko's story. Told by Kiko, for everyone.
