Read a fairy tale about snow for children. Winter fairy tale "first snow"

One day there was no snow in the mountains. Winter has come, but no snow has fallen. The city, as usual, embraced winter: people got dressed, rows of hot pastries, punch and mulled wine appeared in the squares, elegant fluffy Christmas trees appeared, and garlands of firefly light bulbs shone everywhere. But there was no snow. How surprised and offended Winter was! "Ugh!" - the wind howled in the pipes and shutters. "Shh-sh-sh! Ch-sh-sh!" - the tree branches rustled. "Plank-chponk!" - raindrops were knocking on the roofs. - "Tut-tut!" - splashed on the pavement. - "Chink-chin!" - they knocked on the windows. The City became damp, cold and uncomfortable. Naked trees stretched branches towards passers-by, towards houses, towards lamps glowing behind glass, in search of at least a drop of warmth. The impudent wind lay in wait for passers-by, on every street, around every corner. At the most unexpected moment, he rushed at an unsuspecting person, instantly penetrated into all the smallest cracks - where the clothes did not fit tightly to the body - and in the blink of an eye chilled him to the bones. - Eh, Sedun is being naughty! - another quacked and wrapped himself up more carefully to retain at least a pitiful crumb of warmth. And Sedun Mountain stood to itself - its head in the clouds, its foot in the icy mountain river - and thought its thoughts. At the top the snow was already lying - spongy and gray from endless sunrises and rains. A neighbor sighed nearby - Whisper Mountain. She was so corroded by time and the elements that she kept whispering about something with the wind piercing her with merciless streams of air, as if she was asking her to regret it - to carry her away with her, grain of sand. And next to them were Vedunya, Lysyaya, Lesnaya, Raduzhnaya, Zhemchuzhnaya... And behind them the rocky ridge went higher and turned into a ridge. And there, on the crest of the ridge, it had been snowing for a long time. He walked and walked, and did not want to know at all about any valleys or hollows. Why would he really go there? In town? To a noisy, smoky, warm City, where he would immediately die? No, dude. And he continued to cover the mountains with a deceptively soft blanket. Winter, meanwhile, was angry, sluggishly quarreling with Autumn, who was in no hurry to give way to her sister, wrapped in a withered shawl with holes through and through, hugging herself with cold, dry fingers and still snapping at Winter, who threatened to hug and kiss her to death. All in vain - without her reliable fluffy fur coat, the white one was powerless. So Autumn made fun of her, and so she made mischief. Look, look, what a naughty gypsy in a holey skirt! As soon as you turned away, flowers were already pouring out on the bushes. Oh, what happened to Winter! How she howled with rage, how she breathed on the City - the next morning everything was covered with sparkling bristles of frost and ringing ice monists. And during the snowstorms and blizzards, the mistress settled into her sleigh, and the blizzard carried her to the mountains. Sparrows and jackdaws cautiously poked their noses out of their roosting places: has she left? Will it suddenly hit you in flight, stopping your wings and freezing your soul? Gone. You can get out. And the hubbub right away! And the noise! I'll save none. Then the sun came out. It was unusually hot - the walls and pavements began to boil at once. The townspeople looked around in bewilderment - had Spring gotten the wrong turn? And Winter rushed further and further into the mountains, higher and higher, towards the fierce wind, which was dearer to her than a dog. Well, hold on, rebellious fur coat!!! And the snow is welcome. He clung to her entire slender figure - he clings to her, like a cat that has not seen its owner for a long time. Hello queen. Hello to you too, lost one. The differences ended: they instantly rushed off together, as if they had never parted. It started spinning and swirling. Where Winter passes, a clean, unsullied canvas remains: the snow covers spruce and pine trees with shawls, hangs garlands on rocky cornices, lies like soft carpets in cracks and crevices, and falls in tattered rags on weather-beaten slopes. Now from the City you can see how the surrounding slopes are covered with heavy, low clouds. It's blowing. The careless wind clears and dries a place for Winter, so that she does not have to put her fur coat in the mud. The night is coming. And this is where strange creatures descend on the squares and rooftops. There is not a drop of generous mountain sun in their faces. They are thin and pale. - Look, dad! - exclaims a child walking down the street with his parent. - Look how sharp they are. The father ignores his words. The creatures follow them with their glances and get to work... And when people leave their houses in the morning, they - each of them - freeze and look at their City, not recognizing it at all - just like they don’t recognize it every year. Everywhere - on glass, on tree branches, on the grass, on benches, on stone walls - sparkling, brittle needles. Frost. And then something happens... A special, strange silence sets in. This happens only at certain moments. It is impossible not to recognize her. And that’s right - huge white moths begin to circle over the City. One reached the very bottom before everyone else and fell into a gloved hand extended towards him. - First snow! - they said admiringly above him. And the snow realized that it could melt for the sake of it. Winter has finally come... 02/16/2012

I've been in the forest for several days now. The little animals couldn’t believe such a miracle! White, fluffy and incredibly beautiful. Every day Vasya the hedgehog, Styopa the bunny, and Miko the little squirrel rode on the slide and played snowballs. There are so many snow fun things you can do with your friends! Only their faithful friend Potapka was not with them; he and his Madved mother fell into winter hibernation. Did they fall?

In fact, Potapka the bear cub could not fall asleep. He tossed and turned from side to side and did not let his mother sleep. He constantly asked her some questions:

- Mom, mom, have you ever seen snow alive, or only through the window?

- Mom, mom, what kind of snow is it, very cold?

- Mom, mom, why is the snow white? Is he really so soft?

Mama Bear really wanted to sleep, but she had to answer the questions of her fidgety son. Her eyes closed, and through her sleep she tried to calm Potapka down:

- Sleep, sleep, baby. We bears don't need snow. We have to sleep in winter.

But Potapka couldn’t stop thinking about the snow. After all, somewhere out there, on the street, were his friends. They probably all played together. Sleep never came, so Potapka dreamed that he was walking and playing with everyone else. Then he heard his mother snoring. I fell asleep. Overcame her sleep. Instantly a wonderful thought came to Potapka:

- What if I run outside for a while?! Mom won't even know. I’ll quickly play a little with my friends, come back and go to bed.

The little bear got up, went to the door and opened it. There was a cool smell from the street. Potapka closed the door and thought that he had no warm clothes at all: no mittens, no hat. There is no need for them, bears, to have warm clothes. They sleep in winter.

- It’s okay, my skin is thick and warm. “I won’t freeze,” the little bear thought and stepped over the threshold.

It was really cold outside. It's cold and very bright. White snow covered everything around. Earth, trees and shrubs. The bear cub had never seen such extraordinary beauty in his life. This is what it means to be a bear - you can sleep through such beauty! Potapka was thinking about this when he ran to the clearing with his friends. They were there, of course, making a snowman.

- Potapka, why aren’t you sleeping?! – they were surprised and delighted.

“And my mother allowed me to take a little walk, and then I’ll go to bed,” the little bear composed an answer as he walked. He was ashamed to admit that he ran away without asking.

How wonderful it turned out to be to play with friends together! Vasya ran home and brought his dad’s biggest mittens that he found for the bear cub. Vasya, Miko, Styopa and Potapka made a wonderful snowman. Little bunny Styopa brought a large orange carrot for the nose, and pebbles instead of eyes. The mouth and hands were made from twigs. How the snowman came out alive! And so cute. It's a shame we couldn't play with him.

Then the friends began to play snowballs. Potapka has never had so much fun in his life! True, he was very tired. Then Miko suggested:

- Let's go up the hill!

Everyone, of course, agreed. Only the little bear thought:

- And where did they have so much strength left for the slide?

But he still ran with his friends. The hill turned out to be high, and Potapka decided to rest a little before starting to climb it. He sat down under a tree, leaned against it and began to look at his friends. They laughed joyfully as they rolled down the slide, and then quickly climbed up again. Potapka thought that winter was an extraordinary time, full of miracles and entertainment. He did not notice how his eyes closed and he fell asleep. Soon his animal friends realized that the bear cub was not just sitting near the tree, but was sleeping. They tried to wake him up, but to no avail.

“Apparently, he fell into hibernation and will wake up only in the spring,” suggested Vasya the hedgehog.

- But he can’t sleep here! “He’ll freeze,” the little squirrel Miko worried.

“Let’s take him home,” suggested the little bunny Styopa.

- How will we deliver it?! – his friends asked in surprise.

“On a sled, of course,” answered the little bunny.

With great difficulty, the friends managed to lift the sleeping Potapka onto the sled. It was not easy to drag him to the den house. Only true friends could do this.

Nobody answered when they knocked on the door. They pushed it, it was open. Entering the bears' house, Vasya, Styopa and Miko saw a bear sleeping in a sweet sleep. They immediately realized that the bear cub had not told them the whole truth that he had run away from the house after waiting for his mother to fall asleep. Of course, they did not condemn him. Well, Potapka’s friends knew how much he dreamed of seeing snow.

Potapka’s friends barely managed to put the bear cub on his bed. Fortunately for them, it was not very high. They covered the bear cub with a duvet and left the house. Potapka turned and smiled in his sleep. He dreamed of snow and his friends.

The little bear slept until spring, and when he woke up, he could not understand how he ended up in his crib. After all, just now he was sitting under a snow-covered tree near the hill.

Old Potapov died a month after Tatyana Petrovna moved into his house. Tatyana Petrovna was left alone with her daughter Varya and her old nanny.

A small house - only three rooms - stood on a mountain, above the northern river, at the very exit of the town. Behind the house, behind the leafless garden, was a white birch grove. In it, from morning to dusk, jackdaws screamed, rushed in clouds over the bare peaks, and invited bad weather.

For a long time after Moscow, Tatyana Petrovna could not get used to the deserted town, to its little houses, creaky gates, to the dead evenings when one could hear the fire crackling in a kerosene lamp.

“What a fool I am!” thought Tatyana Petrovna. “Why did I leave Moscow, abandon the theater, my friends? I should have taken Varya to the nanny in Pushkino - there were no raids there - and stayed in Moscow myself. My God, what a fool I am! "

But it was no longer possible to return to Moscow. Tatyana Petrovna decided to perform in hospitals - there were several of them in the town - and calmed down. She even began to like the town, especially when winter came and covered it with snow. The days were soft and gray.

The river did not freeze for a long time; Steam rose from its green water.

Tatyana Petrovna got used to both the town and someone else's house. I got used to the out-of-tune piano, to the yellowed photographs on the walls depicting clumsy battleships of the coastal defense. Old Potapov was a former ship mechanic. On his desk, with faded green cloth, stood a model of the cruiser Thunderbolt, on which he sailed. Varya was not allowed to touch this model. And they weren’t allowed to touch anything at all.

Tatyana Petrovna knew that Potapov had a son, a sailor, that he was now in the Black Sea Fleet. On the table next to the model of the cruiser was his card. Sometimes Tatyana Petrovna took it, examined it and, frowning her thin eyebrows, thought. It seemed to her that she had met him somewhere, but a very long time ago, even before her unsuccessful marriage. But where? And when?

The sailor looked at her with calm, slightly mocking eyes, as if asking: “Well, then? Don’t you really remember where we met?”

No, I don’t remember,” Tatyana Petrovna answered quietly.

Mom, who are you talking to? - Varya shouted from the next room.

With a piano,” Tatyana Petrovna laughed in response.

In the middle of winter, letters began to arrive addressed to Potapov, written in the same hand. Tatyana Petrovna was putting them on the desk. One night she woke up. The snow shone dimly through the windows. The gray cat Arkhip, inherited from Potapov, was snoring on the sofa.

Tatyana Petrovna put on her robe, went to Potapov’s office, and stood by the window. A bird silently fell from the tree and shook off the snow. He sprinkled white dust for a long time, powdering the glass.

Tatyana Petrovna lit a candle on the table, sat down in a chair, looked at the flame for a long time - it didn’t even flinch. Then she carefully took one of the letters, opened it and, looking around, began to read.

“My dear old man,” Tatyana Petrovna read, “I’ve been in the hospital for a month now. The wound is not very serious. And in general it’s healing. For God’s sake, don’t worry and don’t smoke cigarette after cigarette. I beg you!”

“I often remember you, dad,” Tatyana Petrovna read further, “and our house, and our town. Everything1 is terribly far away, as if at the end of the world. I close my eyes and then I see: here I am opening the gate, entering the garden. It's winter, snow, but the path to the old gazebo over the cliff has been cleared, and the lilac bushes are still covered in frost. The stoves are crackling in the rooms. There is a smell of birch smoke. The piano is finally tuned, and you put twisted yellow candles in the candlesticks - the ones I brought from Leningrad. And the same notes lie on the piano: the overture to "The Queen of Spades" and the romance "For the Shores of the Distant Fatherland". Is the bell ringing at the door? I never had time to fix it. Will I really see all this again? Will I really wash my face again? from the road with our well water from a jug? Do you remember? Oh, if you only knew how much I loved all this from here, from afar! Don’t be surprised, but I’m telling you quite seriously: I remembered this in the most terrible moments of the battle. I knew that I protect not only the whole country, but also this small and dearest corner for me - and you, and our garden, and our curly-haired boys, and the birch groves across the river, and even the cat Arkhip. Please don't laugh or shake your head.

Maybe when I leave the hospital, they will let me go home for a while. Don't know. But it’s better not to wait.”

Tatyana Petrovna sat at the table for a long time, looking with wide open eyes outside the window, where dawn was beginning in the thick blue, thinking that any day now a stranger might come from the front to this house and it would be difficult for him to meet strangers here and see everything completely not the way he would like to see it.

In the morning, Tatyana Petrovna told Varya to take a wooden shovel and clear the path to the gazebo over the cliff. The gazebo was completely dilapidated. Its wooden columns have turned gray and are overgrown with lichen. And Tatyana Petrovna herself fixed the bell above the door. A funny inscription was cast on it: “I’m hanging at the door - call more cheerfully!” Tatyana Petrovna touched the bell. He rang in a high-pitched voice. The cat Arkhip twitched his ears displeasedly, was offended, and left the hallway; the cheerful ringing of the bell seemed obviously impudent.

In the afternoon, Tatyana Petrovna, rosy-cheeked, noisy, with eyes darkened from excitement, brought from the city an old tuner, a Russified Czech who was engaged in repairing primus stoves, kerosene stoves, dolls, harmonicas and tuning pianos. The tuner's last name was very funny: Nevidal. Czech, having tuned the piano, said that the piano was old, but very good. Tatyana Petrovna knew this even without him.

When he left, Tatyana Petrovna carefully looked into all the drawers of the desk and found a pack of thick twisted candles. She inserted them into the candlesticks on the piano. In the evening she lit candles, sat down at the piano, and the house was filled with ringing.

When Tatyana Petrovna stopped playing and put out the candles, the rooms smelled of sweet smoke, like a Christmas tree.

Varya couldn’t stand it.

Why do you touch other people's things? - she said to Tatyana Petrovna. - You don’t let me, but you touch it yourself. And the bell, and the candles, and the piano - you touch everything. And she put someone else’s notes on the piano.

Because I’m an adult,” Tatyana Petrovna answered.

Varya frowned and looked at her incredulously. Now Tatyana Petrovna looked least like an adult. She seemed to glow all over and looked more like that girl with golden hair who lost her crystal slipper in the palace. Tatyana Petrovna herself told Varya about this girl.

While still on the train, Lieutenant Nikolai Potapov calculated that he would have to stay with his father for no more than a day. The vacation was very short, and the road took up all the time.

The train arrived in the town in the afternoon. Right there, at the station, from a friend of the station chief, the lieutenant learned that his father had died a month ago and that a young singer from Moscow had settled in their house with her daughter.

“Evacuated,” said the station chief. Potapov was silent, looking out the window, where passengers in quilted jackets and felt boots were running with teapots. His head was spinning.

Yes,” said the station chief, “he was a man of good soul.” He never had a chance to see his son.

When is the return train, Potapov asked.

Thank you,” Potapov replied and left.

The boss looked after him and shook his head.

Potapov walked through the city, to the river. A blue sky hung above her. A rare snowball flew obliquely between heaven and earth. Jackdaws walked along the manure-covered road. It was getting dark. The wind blew from the other side, from the forests, and blew tears from my eyes.

“Well!” said Potapov, “I’m late. And now it’s all like a stranger to me - this town, and the river, and the house.”

He turned around and looked at the cliff outside the city. There the garden stood in the frost, the house was dark. Smoke rose from its chimney. The wind carried the smoke into the birch grove.

Potapov slowly walked towards the house. He decided not to enter the house, but only to pass by, perhaps look into the garden, and stand in the old gazebo. The thought that strangers, indifferent people lived in my father’s house, was unbearable. It’s better not to see anything, not to hurt your heart, to leave and forget about the past!

“Well,” thought Potapov, “every day you become more mature, you look around you more and more strictly.”

Potapov approached the house at dusk. He carefully opened the gate, but it still creaked. Garden like

I would flinch. Snow fell from the branches and rustled. Potapov looked around. A path cleared in the snow led to the gazebo. Potapov walked into the gazebo and put his hands on the old railing. In the distance, behind the forest, the sky was turning dull pink - the moon must have been rising behind the clouds. Potapov took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair. It was very quiet, only below, under the mountain, women were clanking with empty buckets - they were going to the ice hole for water.

Potapov leaned his elbows on the railing and said quietly:

How is this so?

Someone gently touched Potapov on the shoulder. He looked back. Behind him stood a young woman with a pale, stern face, wearing a warm scarf thrown over her head. She silently looked at Potapov with dark, attentive eyes. The snow that must have fallen from the branches was melting on her eyelashes and cheeks.

“Put on your cap,” the woman said quietly, “you’ll catch a cold.” And let's go into the house. There's no need to stand here.

Potapov was silent. The woman took him by the sleeve and led him along the cleared path. Potapov stopped near the porch. A spasm squeezed his throat, he could not breathe. The woman said just as quietly:

It's nothing. And please don't be shy about me. Now it will pass.

She tapped her feet to knock the snow off her boots. Immediately the hallway responded and the bell rang. Potapov took a deep breath and caught his breath.

He entered the house, mumbling something embarrassedly, took off his overcoat in the hallway, smelled the faint smell of birch smoke and saw Arkhip. Arkhip sat on the sofa and yawned. A girl with pigtails and joyful eyes stood near the sofa, looking at Potapov, but not at his face, but at the gold stripes on his sleeve.

Let's go! - said Tatyana Petrovna and led Potapov into the kitchen.

There was cold well water in a jug, and a familiar linen towel with embroidered oak leaves hung there.

Tatyana Petrovna came out. The girl brought Potapov soap and watched as he washed himself, taking off his jacket. Potapov's embarrassment has not yet passed.

Who is your mother? - he asked the girl and blushed.

He asked this question just to ask something.

“She thinks she’s an adult,” the girl whispered mysteriously. - And she’s not an adult at all. She's a worse girl than me.

Why? - asked Potapov.

But the girl did not answer, laughed and ran out of the kitchen.

All evening Potapov could not get rid of the strange feeling that he was living in a light, but very strong dream. Everything in the house was the way he wanted it to be. The same notes lay on the piano, the same twisted candles burned, crackling, and illuminated my father’s small office. Even on the table lay his letters from the hospital - they lay under the same old compass under which my father always put letters.

After tea, Tatyana Petrovna took Potapov to his father’s grave, behind the grove. The foggy moon had already risen high. In its light, the birch trees glowed faintly and cast light shadows on the snow.

And then, late in the evening, Tatyana Petrovna, sitting at the piano and carefully fingering the keys, turned to Potapov and said:

It still seems to me that I’ve already seen you somewhere.

Yes, perhaps,” Potapov answered.

He looked at her. The candlelight fell from the side and illuminated half of her face. Potapov stood up, walked across the room from corner to corner, and stopped.

No, I can’t remember,” he said in a dull voice.

Tatyana Petrovna turned around, looked at Potapov in fear, but did not answer.

Potapov was laid out on the sofa in the office, but he could not sleep. Every minute in this house seemed precious to him, and he did not want to waste it.

He lay there, listening to Arkhip's thieving steps, to the rattling of the clock, to the whisper of Tatyana Petrovna - she was talking about something with the nanny behind the closed door. Then the voices died down, the nanny left, but the strip of light under the door did not go out. Potapov heard the pages rustling - Tatyana Petrovna must have been reading. Potapov guessed: she did not go to bed to wake him up for the train. He wanted to tell her that he, too, was not sleeping, but he did not dare call out to Tatyana Petrovna.

At four o'clock Tatyana Petrovna quietly opened the door and called Potapov. He stirred.

It’s time, you need to get up,” she said. - I’m very sorry to wake you up!

Tatyana Petrovna escorted Potapov to the station through the city at night. After the second call they said goodbye. Tatyana Petrovna extended both hands to Potapov and said

Write. We are like relatives now. Is it true? Potapov did not answer, he just nodded his head. A few days later, Tatyana Petrovna received a letter from Potapov from the road.

“I remembered, of course, where we met,” Potapov wrote, “but I didn’t want to tell you about it there, at home. Remember Crimea in 1927. Autumn. Old plane trees in Livadia Park. Fading sky, pale sea. I walked along the path to Oreanda. A girl was sitting on a bench near the path. She must have been about sixteen years old. She saw me, stood up and walked towards me. When we caught up, I looked at her. She walked past me quickly, easily, holding an open book in her hand I stopped and looked after her for a long time. This girl was you. I couldn’t be mistaken. I looked after you and felt then that a woman had passed by me who could have ruined my whole life and given me great happiness. I realized that I can love this woman until she completely renounces herself. Then I already knew that I had to find you, no matter what the cost. That’s what I thought then, but still I didn’t move. I don’t know why. Since then I’ve loved Crimea and this path where I saw you only for a moment and lost you forever. But life turned out to be merciful to me, I met you. And if everything ends well and you need my life, it will, of course, be yours. Yes, I found my printed letter on my father’s desk. I understood everything and can only thank you from afar."

Tatyana Petrovna put the letter aside, looked at the snowy garden outside the window with misty eyes, and said:

My God, I have never been to Crimea! Never! But can this have any significance now? And is it worth dissuading him? And yourself!

She laughed and covered her eyes with her palm. The dim sunset was burning outside the window and could not go out.

Winter was coming. It snowed for the first time that day. In general, it was snowing before, but now, on this day, it was really snowing. It walked, covering everything with a thick, even fluffy blanket, settling on the needles of Christmas trees, the wool of hats, scarves and sweaters, hair and eyelashes. When such a day came, people in these parts usually said that the Gray Dragon had come to visit his native land before Christmas.

The snow swirled in the air and silently fell to the ground. Happy children poured out into the street. They rejoiced at the real “first” snow, built the first snow fortresses, prepared snowballs for upcoming battles and sculpted snow women. The smell of mint, cinnamon, ginger and rowan began to subtly appear in the air. Everywhere one could hear “This is the Dragon! The dragon has arrived! The Gray Dragon has brought winter! »

Everyone knew the legend of the Gray Dragon, which once upon a time was a real story. It was told in every house on the first winter night, which was called “The Night of Ancient Times.” Extraordinary people lived in Izgild. Exactly extraordinary. After all, they were half elves and to some extent possessed the magic of the twilight forests. And on such a night, all this magic from each person united and created, weaving around the city a web of history and smells, dreams and souls. On such a night, everyone could follow the flight of the soul of the Lonely Gray Dragon, whose shadow flapped its wings widely and carried behind it a light trail of golden smoke.

A girl was walking along the street between the slender rows of houses. “A long time ago, in time immemorial...” The snow crunched underfoot, the streets were decorated with lanterns with small candles inserted into them. “... Dragons lived in the Serene Mountains. “She had heard this story not for the first time and knew it by heart, and therefore quietly spoke it out loud.

Dragons lived in the Serene Mountains. They were very wise and majestic. And they would have lived there for more than one millennium, if not for a strange epidemic, due to which the Dragons lost their magic and vital energy, and therefore were subsequently forced to move further south, closer to the coast and the Blue Rocks, in order to preserve their family and ancient magic. Only one Dragon remained in the mountains, because he was unable to follow his people. And then the oldest and wisest Dragon told him that he would stay with this place forever, not because he was weak, but as a reminder to others that dreams and souls were once born here. The gray dragon accepted this as a mission entrusted to him and remained to take with him the secrets of the Serene Mountains and his people.

1200 years have passed since the Dragons moved to the Blue Cliffs, and people came to the Serene Mountains. They first set up a small camp on the plain, their number grew, and now a nice village had already formed. People knew that the Dragon lived in the mountains, but they never sought to climb the inaccessible, gray and inconvenient rocks for their life (but nevertheless incredibly beautiful, especially in the evenings, when the sun slowly floated behind the mountains, illuminating their slightly silvery slopes soft golden-pink rays and the fog walking between them was illuminated and lazily spread and settled with invisible words and thoughts in the air). Therefore, everyone lived peacefully and neither the Dragon nor the villagers ever saw each other. From time to time, a rumble was heard in the valley, and unusual sweet smells were heard, but everyone got used to it and did not pay attention. Only one girl was haunted by the story of the Dragon. Her name was Lyra. She had long brown hair, a slightly snub nose, eyes the color of moderately brewed black tea, and a kind soul. Like all the other residents of the village, she was very sweet and friendly, everyone knew that you could always ask her for advice and that she prepared the most delicious pies and cookies for the whole area. She knew many legends and tales of her own and many other peoples, loved to go into the forest for several days and dissolve in the elusive whisper of nature, and always had a secret desire to possess at least some kind of magic, good, invisible magic.

Taking with her a bag with a blanket, a warm jacket, a jug of water and several pies, Lyra left the house late in the evening without saying anything to her family or close friends. She walked along small streets straight to the mountains to find out the history of the Dragon.

At night it became cooler and the girl was tired enough, so she spread out a blanket and went to bed, thinking about tomorrow and about the great and wise Dragons. She arrived just before dawn and was amazed at the beauty of the mountains. They were great. Lyra walked quietly between the stones and listened carefully. Finally she noticed a cave and decided to have breakfast and catch the mood of this place. In front of the cave, or rather a very wide and deep hole in the rock, there was a small ledge where the girl was located.

-My name is Lyra, and I have come to see the Dragon of the Serene Mountains! – the girl answered in a clear and strong young voice. -Will you let me watch you and hear your story of these places?

-Who are you? Are you human?

“I haven’t had guests for a long time...” The dragon fell silent for a minute. - Come on in if you're not afraid.

Lyra picked up her bag, climbed onto the rock and stepped into the cave. Immediately, out of nowhere, thousands of tiny luminous golden drops appeared in the air, illuminating the space. Inscriptions in languages ​​unknown to the girl ran along the walls, and branches of some plants she had never seen before were hung. She walked further, and then her breath caught. She saw the Dragon. He was huge, but beautiful, his scales were silver-gray and seemed to glow from within.

“Come closer,” he said. Lyra took a few more steps and sat down on the floor of the cave right in front of the Dragon.

-So, you say your name is Lyra and you are human? Beautiful name. Like a stream. And I am the Gray Dragon. Lonely Gray Dragon. The only one left in the Serene Mountains.

His iridescent mother-of-pearl eyes reflected golden drops and felt sadness, a bright, lonely sadness that there was no one to share with. Lyra carefully took out a blanket and a piece of pie. Just thinking that it would be nice to still have hot tea, a real teapot with fresh tea appeared in front of her. Moderately real. The one she loved and the color of her eyes. Then she made herself comfortable and began to listen to the story of the Lone Gray Dragon.

“And I’m an ordinary girl,” said Lyra’s quiet voice, “I live in a valley in a small, cozy house.” I know the legends and tales of many peoples. I hear the whisper of nature and love to walk under the moonlight. I can be your friend if you want, because no one else will come here except me.

And the Dragon became friends with her, an ordinary girl from a small village. He began to teach her the magic of dreams and magic. Lyra spent a whole week in the Serene Mountains. She learned to weave dreams and make some small harmless desires come true. The girl wove ribbons and delicate flowers with a subtle sweet scent into her long hair, and chains of small, quiet and melodiously ringing bells were wrapped around her wrists. And on the last day, when Lyra was about to leave, the Dragon spread his transparent grayish wings and they flew all night over the valley, over the rivers, over the mountains and over thoughts under the silver light of the moon.

When Lyra returned home, at night she brought a little magic to every resident of her village, guarded their dreams and dreams, entwined their thoughts with light. All the residents soon learned that the girl had magic, so they turned to her more often with their problems, and she helped everyone. The whole village began to love the young sorceress even more. So 2 months passed, and then Lyra again went for a week to her friend Gray Dragon. Learn magic and bring it to people.

So the years passed. The dragon was getting old. Lyra blossomed. The friendship grew stronger. The magic became stronger. Lyra told secrets to some people, and those to others, covering the earth with a thin layer of fairy tales and magic. But one night she dreamed of the Dragon and said: “Know, girl Lyra, you are my only and true friend. I gave you everything I knew. Thank you". And in the morning she woke up with gray thoughts. And I realized that the Dragon was no more. That he had outlived his time, but at the same time the magic remained alive. Then she ran to the mountains. She ran as fast as she could. And when she entered the cave, she simply hugged the large head of the Dragon with pearlescent iridescent eyes and fell asleep.

That night, all the villagers gathered in the main square and thought about Lyra and how much she had done for each of them. Then a gray shadow rose from the mountains and flew silently over the valley. It was the soul fog of the Lone Gray Dragon. And on his back there was a small figure of a girl with unusually long and beautiful hair. And the quiet ringing of bells was heard. The first snow has fallen. The first snow in these parts, because before there was no winter here, the kind soul of the Dragon preserved the eternal summer with its warmth.

The girl was still walking down the street. She smiled. This story is over, but the magic knows no end. And she continued her way towards the mountains, and a shadow floated over her and over the city. Fog of the soul. And the ringing of bells was heard.

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Once upon a time there lived a girl, Aina. She had a friendly family: dad, mom and little sister. Aina loved winter and especially snow.

Winter came, but there was still no snow. Aina was very upset. She asked dad why there is still no snow? But dad could not answer her this question. She asked her mother. But my mother could not answer this question either. Then Aina decided to ask Santa Claus. She got ready to go and went into the forest. She walked and walked. She met a squirrel.

Squirrel, squirrel, please tell me where Santa Claus lives?

Don't know. Ask the bunny.

Aina went to the bunny.

Bunny, bunny, please tell me where Santa Claus lives?

Don't know. Better ask the wise Owl.

Aina went to the Owl.

Wise Owl, please tell me where Santa Claus lives?

Why do you need Santa Claus?

I want to ask why there has been no snow for so long?

Fine. I'll help you. Take this feather. It's magical. Wherever the feather flies, go there.

Aina thanked Owl and went for the magic feather. She walked and walked and came to the Snow House of Santa Claus. She looks and Father Frost comes out to meet her. Father Frost's beard was white and white. And he was dressed in a long red sheepskin coat. On his head, Santa Claus had a red hat, all decorated with multi-colored snowflakes, and on his hands he had large red mittens. Santa Claus asks Aina:

My name is Aina. I came to you, Grandfather Frost, to ask why we still don’t have snow?

Santa Claus shook his head, sighed and said:

An evil witch stole my magic staff, with which I caused snow. Help me find him, Aina.

Aina agreed.

And Santa Claus says:

Here's an icicle, a snowball and a magic bell. They will help you in difficult times. An evil witch lives in a dark forest, in a rotten swamp. Go and be careful!

Aina went to look for a magic staff. I came to the house where the evil witch lived. He enters the house and sees a staff lying there, but the witch is not at home. Aina took the staff and ran to Santa Claus. But then the sorceress returned and saw that there was no staff. She chased the girl. He's about to catch up with Aina.

I saw Aina chasing her. She threw an icicle on the ground, and huge blocks of ice grew in that place. The witch began to gnaw the ice. She gnawed her way through and rushed on. She began to catch up with the girl again. Then Aina threw a snowball on the ground. And a high snowy mountain stood in front of the sorceress. The sorceress overcame the mountain and rushed further in pursuit. Then Aina took out a magic bell, rang it, and the snowy horses of Santa Claus with a large sleigh rushed. Aina jumped onto the sled, and they flew to Santa Claus.