The World Traveller And The Hippo

The bird drifted down from the golden afternoon sky, making a soft, feather-light landing right on the hippo’s broad back.

The hippo’s ears gave a happy wiggle. He had missed his old friend dearly. "Hello there!" he rumbled, his voice like deep thunder. "Where have you been? I haven't seen your wings in this part of the marsh for a long time."

"I was on a great journey around the wide, wide world," the bird chirped, puffing out its chest. "I saw mountains that touch the clouds and oceans that never end. The world is much bigger than we ever imagined."

The hippo let out a long, bubbly sigh into the water. "You lucky fellow. You can fly anywhere your heart desires. But for me," he said, looking at the reeds and the muddy bank, "this little pond is my whole world."

The bird hopped down to the hippo’s snout and looked him in the eye. "It’s true, the world is big," the bird whispered. "But after seeing all those places, I realized something: no matter how far I fly, I always look forward to coming back to this pond. A big world is nice, but a best friend is better."