The Raven's Bright Button

A raven found a silver button beside the road. It flashed when he tilted it toward the sun. He carried it to the tallest pine and announced that the sky had given him a piece of morning. The magpie admired the shine. The mole asked whether it could mend a coat. The raven tucked the button beneath one wing. “Its purpose is higher than coats,” he said.

Each day he polished it. Because one wing stayed pressed around the treasure, his flight became uneven. He stopped carrying twigs for the nest he shared with his sister. He avoided rain, fearing spots. When the flock searched a field, he watched from a dry branch and guarded his brightness.

Then winter ice sealed the berries beneath a hard crust. The raven's sister tried to lift it with her beak, but the layer would not break. The mole knew of grain inside an abandoned shed. Its door was fastened by a loop of wire whose ends almost met. “A small round object might hold them together,” said the mole. The raven imagined his button scratched inside the loop. He also saw his sister's empty beak. At last he fitted the button through the wire. The door opened, and the flock ate. The silver surface gained a deep mark.

In spring, the raven still kept the button, but he wore it on a cord where everyone could see the scratch. “Is that damage?” a nestling asked. “It is the first thing this treasure ever accomplished,” said the raven.