Later, Ani sat quietly at the dinner table while her parents discussed the meeting of the Creators.
“Thalassa, I believe we would be making a grave mistake in destroying the race of birds from off the face of Earth.”
“I know you feel this way, darling, but maybe…don’t you think you may be biased on this matter?” Zoikis looked into her face, his jaw hardening. “Well, I guess what I’m saying is, you are the animal god. So wouldn’t that cause you to be against eliminating any creature, even if it is the right choice?”
“Thalassa, don’t you see? That is exactly my point. I created all animals, so wouldn’t I know better than anyone when it is right to annihilate an entire race?”
“I understand that, but sometimes we make mistakes; none of us are perfect. Remember when I created all those salty lakes, like the Dead Sea, the Great Salt Lake, and the Caspian Sea? They turned out to be mistakes, but unfortunately a lake is not something I can just unmake. But fortunately, you have the opportunity to admit that birds were a mistake, and then do something about it.”
“You are not understanding me, Thalassa! I know that birds must have a purpose, or I would not have created them! I just…don’t know what that purpose is.”
Ani couldn’t hold her tongue anymore; she had to express her opinion. “I agree with Father,” she stated resolutely. “We should not destroy the birds, simply because no one wants to take the time to find a purpose for them.”
Both her parents turned and looked at her. They seemed to have just remembered she was in the room with them. Suddenly, her resolve to speak out seemed silly, and she dropped her gaze.
“What do you mean, Anidori?” Thalassa asked.
“Well…” she started, “I just think it’s kind of a harsh judgment…that’s all.” Ani looked back up, searching her parents’ faces, certain she would find disapproval. Instead she saw something entirely different. They were both…pleased! And her father’s expression was nothing short of ecstatic. This new realization encouraged her.
“Father is right; birds must have a purpose, or they wouldn’t be here. Everything happens for a reason; you only need to seek out that reason.” Then Ani paused as a new thought came to her. “I believe the birds know that too. And I think they also know what their own purpose is–we just need to ask.”
“Words of wisdom,” Zoikis began, “spoken out of pure innocence from the mouth of a child.”
“I am not a child, Father.”
“I know that, my sweet Ani, but you are still so young, and you have not lost the innocence of a child.” She wasn’t positive, but Ani thought she saw tears forming in her Father’s eyes.
“Anidori, you may feel strongly about this, but I do not see how it will make any difference. You are the goddess of music. Don’t get me wrong; you have many talents, what with your beautiful and powerful voice that allows you to hold people in its enchantment, and your graceful ability to make lovely music come from anything. But I do not understand why you would even care about an animal that does not make any sound at all.”
Ani knew it was time to tell her parents about the connection she felt to birds. “Mother, I don’t understand either; but I do know this: I feel…connected to these birds. I don’t know how this is, and I don’t know why. But I know that I get this almost tangible feeling whenever I am around birds.”
Zoikis leaned in, obviously intrigued. “I have never before come across something like this; a connection between a goddess and an animal. So I’m only guessing when I say this, but what if this connection you speak of has something to do with the birds’ purpose?”
“Maybe…” Then Ani had any idea. “Father, what if I am meant to help you give them a purpose?”
“That could be true, Ani.”
“Oh, Father! Will you let me help you? I know I can find a purpose for the birds, if you just let me try!”
“I do not think this is wise,” Thalassa warned. “Anidori, you are the goddess of music, not animals. It would not be proper for you to frolic in the woods like some lunatic.”
Ani grasped Thalassa’s hand. “Oh, Mother! Please don’t say that! My heart tells me this is right; please don’t make me ignore what I know is true.”
“Thalassa, the child speaks the truth; she is old enough to know what is right and what is wrong. And she is wise enough to know to follow her heart.”
“What you have said is true, Zoikis. I cannot stop her from following her heart, but that does not change the way I feel on this matter.” Then Thalassa turned towards Ani. “Ani, my child, if your heart tells you this is right, then I will not stand in your way.”
Ani threw her arms around Thalassa. “Thank you, Mother! I promise I will not disappoint you!”
“Anidori, if you wish to assist me in searching for the birds’ purpose, you must get some rest, for tomorrow will be a big day,” Zoikis said as he stood up.
“Yes, Father.” Ani rose and began to walk out of the room. When she reached the doorway, she stopped. “Thank you, for everything.”
“No, thank you, my child,” Zoikis responded. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

Ani was up the next morning before the sun had even risen. She quietly packed a small breakfast, grabbed her flute, and snuck out the door.
While she walked along the familiar path to the forest, Ani sorted through the many thoughts going through her head. She wondered how she was going to learn the birds’ purpose. When she finally came to the wood’s edge, she stopped and closed her eyes, listening to the sweet sound of the wind. She loved the simple song it sang as it softly blew past her, and without even thinking, she found herself harmonizing with the breeze. Ani sensed and heard music in everything, from the gurgle of a stream to the soft flap of a bird’s wing.
She began walking again, and pulled out her flute. She started playing, first copying the wind’s basic tune, and then adding on to it, creating a beautiful melody.
As Ani strolled through the forest, alternating between singing and playing her flute, she was flocked by birds of every kind. A few landed on her head and shoulders, but most of them gathered in the branches of trees near her. The silent observers were the perfect audience. They seemed entranced by her music; never tiring of it, always wanting more. Ani wished that the birds could sing with her, and she could tell that they yearned to do so as well. Suddenly she stopped.
“That’s it!” she said to herself. “The birds are silent because no one has given them a voice. If they were given voices, then their song would enchant the forests and please the ear of every listener.”
Ani held out her finger and a small brown bird with a reddish tail landed on it. “Hello, little Nightingale,” she sang, “Is that what your purpose is, to sing?” The bird nodded.
“If I gave you a voice, would you use it well?” Again, the bird nodded. “Then I shall grant you this wish.” And with that, she kissed the bird’s head. The Nightingale opened her beak, and rather than silence, a beautiful song erupted from her tiny body.
Ani laughed her musical laugh and shed tears of joy. She had given birds a purpose!
One by one, each bird landed on her finger and accepted her kiss. And each time, the bird flew away with a song on its beak. She spent hours educating the birds in the art of music, teaching them how to harmonize and create beautiful melodies.
Then Ani felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She turned around and looked up into the face of Zoikis. This time, she was sure that she saw tears welling up in his eyes.
“Oh! My sweet Ani, I knew you could do it; I knew would find a purpose for these beautiful creatures. And you have outdone my expectations. You have given these birds a voice and you have taught them to make it beautiful.” He embraced her and they both wept.
“I did it, Father,” Ani murmured. “I figured out why I feel so connected to these birds.”
“Yes, my child, you have done that.” Zoikis released her. Then he put a hand under her chin and tilted her face up to his. “Now, it pains me that I must put a damper on this joyous occasion, but–”
“What, Father? What is wrong?” she asked anxiously.
“Look over there, in that far tree.” He pointed to a dark branch where three large birds sat. “The Raven, the Crow and the Magpie.”
“What about them, Father? Why are they sitting all the way over there, away from the other birds?”
“Why don’t you ask them yourself?” Zoikis waved his hand, summoning the three to fly to him.
“Why do you not join the other birds in their delightful chorus?” Ani asked them.
“We do not believe in such pointless warbling,” the Raven said.
“We were better off before, when we did not have voices,” added the Magpie.
“And we want nothing to do with the other birds. We will not descend to their level, for they are small and worthless. They will waste away their days with this new ability you have taught them,” finished the Crow.
This infuriated Ani; she was affronted by their frank ungratefulness. “I hope you enjoyed saying those words, for they will be your last! I shall punish you severely for your selfishness.”
“Anidori! Remember, you cannot unmake what has already been made. It is against the law of Creation,” Zoikis said, stopping Ani before she could carry through with her threat.
“But they must be punished, Father!” she fumed.
“I know, child, but you must find another way to punish them.”
Ani thought for a moment. Then she said, “You are right, Father, I cannot take away their voices, but I can change them.” She turned back to the three dissenters. “As your punishment, your voice will be limited. Your singing will not be beautiful. Every ear that hears it will cringe and despise the sound. This is what you deserve for your unthankful attitude.”
The Magpie tried to protest against Ani’s declaration, but all that came out was an ugly caw. Ani and Zoikis cringed at the sound, just as she had predicted. Then the three birds hung their heads and flew off into the forest to suffer in solitude.
“Well done, Ani. I am very proud of you,” Zoikis said, approvingly. “That was a very diplomatic punishment; very fitting of the crime.” He smiled down at her, his pride evident. “Now, let’s go home and tell Thalassa of all that has happened. I’m sure she will be very proud of you as well.”
He took Ani’s hand in his, and the two of them started back towards their home. As they neared the edge of the forest, Zoikis interrupted their cheerful conversation.
“I believe you have a shadow, Ani.”
“A shadow?”
Zoikis gestured with his head for her to look behind them. Turning around, Ani spotted the little Nightingale, perched on a branch just a few feet from where she was standing.
“Did you follow me all this way?” Ani questioned. The Nightingale nodded.
“Is there something you would like to say, little Nightingale? Or is there another reason why you have followed us all this way?”
The Nightingale fluttered down and landed on Ani’s outstretched finger. “I just wanted to express my gratitude for the beautiful voice that you have given me, Anidori,” the Nightingale chirped.
“Are you the only one?” Zoikis asked.
“Yes, Zoikis. I am the only one.”
“You will be blessed for your gratitude, just as the Crow, the Magpie, and the Raven were punished for their ingratitude,” Ani said. “Your song will be the sweetest of all, and you will be honored forever as my emblem. When people see you, they will know that you represent Anidori, the goddess of music. They will honor you as they honor me.”
With that, the Nightingale flew off in a burst of beautiful song, never to forget the one who gave her a voice and a purpose.