The Fox and the Rhinoceros

Once upon a time, in a wide golden plain where the tall grasses swayed like waves and the air shimmered with heat, there lived a Rhinoceros. He was strong and sturdy, with a horn that gleamed in the sun. From far and wide, animals admired him. They gathered near when he spoke, for he often talked about important things: working hard, being brave, helping others, and never giving up.

“Keep trying, keep learning, keep moving forward!” the Rhinoceros would bellow as the sun rose behind him. His words echoed across the plain, bouncing off the rocks and acacia trees. Many believed him to be wise. Yet inside, hidden beneath his thick hide, the Rhinoceros carried a hunger he could never satisfy. He longed for constant praise.

You see, when he was just a calf, his father praised him only when he brought home shiny coins. “Well done, my son!” his father would say, and the young Rhino’s heart would swell. From then on, praise became his food, his water, his sunshine. Without it, he felt small and lost.

One crisp morning, as the sky turned pink and the grass glittered with dew, a small Fox wandered into the Rhinoceros’s camp. Her fur glowed red in the dawn light, and her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “I want to learn from you,” she said. “I want to know how to build a den that’s good and lasting.”

The Rhinoceros lowered his head proudly. “Stay close, little Fox,” he rumbled. “I will show you how to make a den. A den must be strong, fast to build, and impressive enough that others will give you treasures. That way, everyone will know you are successful.”

The Fox listened carefully. Together, they explored the plains, climbed rocky ridges, and studied the ground for places where dens might be made. Under his guidance, she learned the importance of teamwork and vision, as they built a den side by side. She grew wiser, kinder, and more confident. “You’ve helped me see the world differently,” she told him one evening as the stars blinked awake above them.

For many seasons, the Fox admired the Rhinoceros. But we all know that seasons change, and so they did.

One day, the Fox wandered into the deep forest at the edge of the plain. Sunlight trickled through the leaves, and the air was cool and fresh. There she learned new ways of living—how to be still, how to listen to her own heart, how to find joy without applause. When she returned to the plain, her eyes were brighter, her step lighter.

The Rhinoceros noticed. “Where have you been?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“In the forest,” the Fox said softly. “I’ve learned new ways of being.”

The Rhinoceros frowned. “New ways? You must remember—my way is the best way. Look at all the dens I have built. Look at all the treasures I have. Clap for me. Brag about me. That is how you will succeed.”

The Fox’s tail swished. “That isn’t my way,” she replied. “My path is different.”

The Rhinoceros snorted, his voice thundering. “If you will not follow my way, then you are ungrateful!”

The Fox’s ears flicked back, but she stood tall. “You have crossed a line,” she said firmly. “Your words are untrue and your tone hurtful.”

The Rhinoceros blinked, then bowed his head. “I am sorry,” he muttered. But the very next day, he told the whole plain, “See how noble I am to apologize to the Fox! What a great leader I must be.” And the animals clapped their hooves and paws, and the Rhinoceros basked in the sound.

The Fox sighed. She saw the truth now: the Rhinoceros was kind only when the applause was loud. Without it, he grew uneasy, even mean.

So, as the moon rose one night and illuminated the grass, the Fox made a choice. “I will build my own den,” she whispered. “One where kindness matters more than treasures or praise.”

But when the Rhinoceros heard this, he grew worried. “You cannot build a den here!” he told her. “This is my land. If you want to build, you must go far away where no one can see you.”

The Fox tilted her head. “Why not here? There is enough space for us both. My den will not take away from yours.”

But the Rhinoceros shook his horn and huffed. “No! If you build here, others may cheer for you instead of me. And I cannot allow that.” Then, stamping his feet, he added, “Besides, the rules of the plains forbid it.”

The Fox’s ears twitched. She had walked these plains enough to know there were no such rules. Calmly, she asked, “Show me the rules.”

The Rhinoceros blew dust into the air with his stomping, but when it settled, he had no proof. The Fox realized the truth: his rules were make-believe, born from jealousy and fear.

So she slipped free of his company and set out to find her own place. She wandered until she came upon a shady grove near a stream. Birds sang in the branches overhead, and flowers bloomed at the edge of the clearing. “This is it,” she whispered, her tail flicking with excitement.

Each day, the Fox worked on her den. She dug deep, carried branches, and shaped the space into something warm and welcoming. As the days passed, the den took form—not just as her home, but as a refuge for others. Tired birds rested in its branches, rabbits huddled in its corners, and wanderers found shelter there. Her den was different from his: the Rhinoceros’s den was a monument for himself, but the Fox’s den became a home for many.

Seasons passed. The Fox found joy in her daily work, and the den grew into a place of safety and kindness. Then one day, a package arrived. Inside was a shiny award. It praised the speed with which a den had once been built—the very den she had helped the Rhinoceros with long ago. The animals of the plains clapped for the Rhinoceros’s achievement, admiring how fast it had been done and praising him for all his treasures. But the Fox knew the truth: haste was not the same as heart.

She turned the award over in her paws, the sunlight glinting off its smooth surface. For a moment, her own heart ached—this was the work she had poured herself into, yet the praise flowed only toward him and his den. Then she breathed, and the ache softened into clarity. She remembered how far she had come, and how her own vision had been born during such a time. She smiled.

The Fox hung the award on her wall—not as a trophy, but as a reminder. Through it all, she had learned something powerful. She saw that praise could be kind and encouraging, but it could also become a trap if it was the only thing someone lived for. What mattered most was not how loudly others cheered, but how clearly she knew her own heart. She learned to listen to that quiet voice inside, the one that reminded her she was enough even without applause.

The Rhinoceros still roams the wide plains, stamping his feet, always searching for applause. And perhaps he always will.

As for the Fox, she has found her place, her purpose, and her light. She doesn’t need constant praise to know her worth. She has built something real on her own, and that is more than enough.

-Amanda