The Boy Who Cried Wolf

In a quiet little village nestled between green hills, there lived a shepherd boy named Leo. Every morning, he led his flock of fluffy white sheep to graze on the hillside. It was a peaceful job, but oh, how boring it was! There was no one to talk to, no games to play—just the sound of sheep munching grass.

One afternoon, as Leo lay on the soft grass, an idea popped into his mischievous little head. "What if I have a little fun?" he thought, grinning. He jumped up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted toward the village:

“Wolf! Wolf! A big, scary wolf is attacking the sheep!”

At once, the villagers dropped their tools and rushed up the hill. The blacksmith, the baker, the farmers—all came running with sticks and rakes, ready to fight the fierce wolf. But when they arrived, there was no wolf—only Leo, rolling on the ground, laughing.

“Haha! You should have seen your faces!” he giggled. “There’s no wolf. I was just joking!”

The villagers frowned. Some shook their heads, others muttered under their breath. "That wasn't funny, Leo," said the old farmer. "Don’t lie about danger, or no one will believe you when it’s real."

But Leo just shrugged and waved them off.

A few days later, boredom struck again. Remembering how exciting it was last time, Leo cupped his hands and yelled even louder:

“Wolf! Wolf! This time, it’s really attacking the sheep!”

Once more, the villagers came running. They climbed the hill, panting and sweating, only to find Leo laughing even harder than before.

“Oh, you all fell for it again!” he howled with laughter.

This time, the villagers were truly angry. “You must never lie about something so serious,” scolded the blacksmith. “One day, you’ll regret this.”

But Leo still thought it was just harmless fun.

Then, one evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills, Leo heard a rustling in the bushes. A pair of glowing eyes stared at him through the tall grass. His heart pounded. A real wolf!

The beast crept closer, its sharp teeth glinting in the fading sunlight. Leo stumbled back and screamed at the top of his lungs:

“Wolf! Wolf! Please, help! It’s real this time!”

He waved his arms, jumped up and down—but down in the village, the people just kept working, ignoring his cries.

“That boy again,” muttered the baker. “We won’t be fooled this time.”

Leo’s throat ached from shouting, but no one came. The wolf growled and lunged at the frightened sheep. They bleated and scattered, but without help, Leo could do nothing. The wolf snatched one and disappeared into the forest.

Tears filled Leo’s eyes as he ran back to the village. “It was real! The wolf was real! It took one of my sheep!” he sobbed.

The villagers sighed. “We are sorry for your loss, Leo,” said the old farmer, “but lies have consequences. If you want to be trusted, you must always tell the truth.”

From that day on, Leo never told a lie again. He learned that trust, once broken, is not easy to fix.