Deep in the forest, perched on a branch of an old oak tree, sat the most beautiful owl named Oscar. His colourful feathers shimmered in the dappled light. Animals gathered around him not for his wisdom, but because Oscar had a special gift: his feathers were magical. Each one could grant a wish.

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Oscar used his gift to help others. He conjured feasts for the hungry, warmth for the cold, and joy for the lonely. Word of his kindness spread far beyond the forest. Life became wonderful for the animals.

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But over time, small wishes turned into bigger demands, and the animals became greedy. Oscar’s feathers grew fewer, and arguments broke out over who got what.

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Then, one bitter winter’s day, Oscar sat shivering. He had given away all but one feather. Once majestic, he was now skin and bones. But the animals didn’t ask how he was or offer help. They only fought over who would get the last feather.

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A gust of wind blew, and the final feather floated away. The animals chased it, leaving Oscar alone at last.

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In the next forest, a small mouse named Milo lived in a worn-out shoe with his mother. Though they had little, there was plenty of love. One freezing day, Milo set out to find food.

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As he scurried along, something drifted down from the sky. He caught the most beautiful feather he had ever seen. Without a second thought, he hurried home and tucked it gently around his shivering mother.

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She snuggled into it and hugged her son. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

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Days later, Milo set off again, this time towards the next forest, where he had heard food was more plentiful. On the way, he stopped in surprise. Perched on a branch was a strange, featherless creature. It looked like something from his dinosaur book.

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“Excuse me,” Milo said politely. “What exactly are you?”

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“I’m an owl,” the creature replied. “Or, I used to be. I’m Oscar.”

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Oscar hadn’t spoken to anyone since his last feather disappeared. So he told Milo everything. Milo listened with wide eyes, urging him to go on, and hours passed.

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Later, Milo stood up. “I must get back to my mother, but may I visit again tomorrow?”

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Oscar gladly agreed.

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ack home, Milo looked at the soft, beautiful feather. He thought, maybe—just maybe—this was Oscar's last feather. Then he thought about what it could mean: warm clothes, a real home, delicious meals. Perhaps even chocolate cake.

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But then he thought about Oscar and how he had given everything for others.

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That night, Milo clutched the feather and made a wish.

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Morning came. The feather hadn’t sparkled or glowed. Nothing looked different. Maybe it was just an ordinary feather after all.

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Milo returned to Oscar, but something strange was happening. A crowd had gathered around the old oak. Milo scurried through and gasped.

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There, standing tall and proud, was Oscar. Full-feathered once more.

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“Milo!” Oscar cried, twirling joyfully. “My feathers are back. It’s a miracle!”

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Oscar swooped down. “My first feather is for you, for being kind and listening.”

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Milo smiled. “I don’t think there’s any magic left in them.”

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Oscar tilted his head. “Why not?”

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“Because I had your last feather,” Milo exclaimed. “And I wished for you to get all your feathers back, but without the magic.”

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Oscar paused, then gently wrapped a wing around Milo. “Thank you, little mouse. That’s the greatest magic of all.”

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Soon after, Oscar invited Milo and his mother to live with him in his warm oak tree. It had everything they had ever dreamed of.

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And together, they lived happily ever after.