Almost overnight, the vibrant meadow turned gray and brittle. The flowers withered, the tall grass died back, and the once-plentiful seeds were buried under a thick, biting blanket of snow. The Grasshopper’s songs were silenced by the cold. He tried to find a morsel of food, but there was nothing left. His thin wings shivered, and his once-strong legs felt weak with hunger.

The Ant sighed and shook his head. "If you were foolish enough to sing all summer," he said firmly, "then you must be prepared to dance all winter."

He knocked feebly on the door. "Please," he whispered as the Ant he had mocked opened the hatch. "I am starving. Could you spare just a little of your corn? I have nothing."