The meadow stretched far and wide, a sea of green grass rippling under the summer breeze. Flowers dotted the field—yellow, purple, and white—and bees hummed lazily as if the whole world were built only for their pleasure. In the distance, the forest stood tall, dark, and dignified, while beyond it, the mountains glimmered blue against the sky. Life in that meadow seemed peaceful, and for most creatures, it was.
But not for all.
For in the middle of the meadow, stamping his hooves and tossing his mane, was a horse. Not just any horse, but a wild stallion with a coat as glossy as polished bronze. His muscles rippled when he moved, his eyes shone with fire, and when he galloped, the earth seemed to tremble beneath him. Every creature in the meadow admired him—every creature, that is, except one.
The donkey.
The donkey, or ass as most called him, was a plain creature. His coat was rough and gray, his ears too long, his steps plodding and slow. He did not shine like the stallion, nor did he gallop like thunder. He carried burdens—sacks of grain, bundles of sticks, baskets of vegetables from one end of the meadow to the other. Where the horse was admired, the ass was simply… useful.
And perhaps that was why the wild horse despised him.
One bright morning, as the meadow glowed with dew, the stallion pranced past the donkey, who was straining beneath a heavy load of firewood. The horse snorted loudly, tossing his mane.
“Look at you,” he sneered. “Bent under sticks like an old tree. How pitiful. Why, you can barely lift your head to greet the morning sun! Do you not tire of living such a lowly life?”
The donkey, breathing hard, simply said, “This is my work. I do not mind. A burden carried with patience is no shame.”
But the stallion laughed, a harsh, ringing sound. “No shame? Ha! You are the very picture of shame. Look at me! My coat gleams, my hooves flash, my gallop shakes the ground. The meadow is mine. The creatures admire me. I am freedom, I am strength, I am—”
He reared dramatically, whinnying so loudly that a flock of sparrows startled into flight.
“—glory itself!”
The donkey set down his load and shook his head. “Pride is a heavy burden too, Horse. Heavier than mine, though you cannot see it.”
The stallion snorted again and galloped away, scattering dust and leaving the donkey to his sticks.
Now, the wild horse’s pride only grew with each passing day. He began challenging other creatures to races—foxes, deer, even hares. None could match his speed, and each time he won, he lifted his head higher, his voice louder. He mocked not just the donkey now, but anyone who dared cross his path.
“Foolish beasts,” he would cry. “You crawl, you creep, you drag your bellies on the earth, while I fly! I was born for greatness, and you for dust!”
Soon his arrogance reached even the ears of man.
A farmer from the nearby village had long watched the wild horse. He admired its strength, its speed, its beauty. But he also noticed something else: the stallion’s swelling pride, his constant boasting. And men, clever as they are, often know how to turn pride to their advantage.
One day, as the donkey was grazing quietly near the edge of the meadow, the farmer approached him.
“Good Ass,” said the farmer kindly, patting his rough neck, “I see how you toil faithfully, never complaining. Yet the wild horse mocks you daily, does he not?”
The donkey lifted his long ears and nodded slowly. “He does. But words are only words. I endure them.”
The farmer smiled faintly. “Still, it must sting. Would you help me teach that proud horse a lesson?”
The donkey hesitated. He was not a creature of malice. But he also knew that unchecked pride could bring trouble to all. So at last, he nodded. “If it humbles him, I will.”
The next morning, the farmer appeared in the meadow with ropes and reins. He approached the horse, who tossed his head arrogantly.
“Ah, man,” the horse neighed. “Do you come to admire me too? No beast equals my strength, no bird equals my speed. You may look, but do not touch. I belong to no one.”
The farmer bowed slightly. “Indeed, you are magnificent. But imagine, noble stallion, if you joined forces with me. Together, we could conquer fields, chase wolves, even rule the land. You would be more than admired—you would be legendary.”
The stallion’s eyes gleamed at the word. Legendary. Greater than great. More than admired. His heart swelled. “Yes… yes, that is fitting for me. Put on your reins, man, and let us ride!”
And so, the proud horse allowed the farmer to bridle him, saddle him, and climb upon his back. He reared, he galloped, and indeed, together they flew faster than the wind. But the horse did not realize that with every step, the farmer’s grip tightened, the reins pulled harder, the bit in his mouth grew harsher.
Soon, he was not flying for glory but working for the man. The farmer took him to the village, yoked him to plows, harnessed him to wagons. Day after day, the proud stallion pulled heavy loads, sweat dripping from his once-glossy coat, his back sore beneath the saddle.
The creatures of the meadow watched in silence. Where once he had pranced free, now he labored harder than the donkey ever had. Where once his voice boomed with arrogance, now he could barely grunt between labored breaths.
One evening, exhausted and trembling, he stumbled past the donkey, who was quietly carrying a modest load of hay. The horse’s eyes were dull, his coat matted, his body weary.
The donkey looked at him gently and said, “You see, Horse, burdens come to all. Yours are no lighter than mine now. Pride has yoked you harder than sticks ever yoked me.”
The stallion lowered his head in shame. He had thought himself too mighty for burdens, too proud for humility. Yet here he was, broken by the very pride he had flaunted.
The donkey walked on, steady and uncomplaining, while the once-wild horse plodded behind, a living lesson for all who saw him.
And so, the meadow learned what the donkey had known all along: pride does not lift us higher, but drags us lower, until our fall is heavier than any burden.
Moral: Pride brings downfall.
