It was a beautiful morning in late summer. The sun was shining, the grain waved in the breeze, and a lark sang in the clear blue sky.
All things seemed cheerful, even the hedgehog, who stood at his door humming a hedgehog song whilst his wife dressed the children inside. After a while, he decided to take a walk to the Great Sloping Meadow, where the grass grew thick and the hills were steep.

He had not gone far when he met a hare, well known in the meadow for his speed and his sharp temper.
“Good morning,” said the hedgehog politely.
The hare barely looked at him. “What are you doing in the field so early?” he asked.
“I am taking a walk for pleasure,” replied the hedgehog.
The hare laughed. “For pleasure? I should think it takes all your crooked legs can manage just to get from one place to another.”

The words stung the hedgehog, for he disliked being judged by his legs more than anything else.
“Do you truly believe your legs are better than mine?” he asked.
“Of course they are,” said the hare proudly.
“Then let us see,” said the hedgehog. “If we race from the top of this steep hill to the Willow Tree below, I believe I shall win.”
“A race?” laughed the hare. “Very well. If you win, I will give you a bright new gold piece.”
“Agreed,” said the hedgehog. “I will return after breakfast.”

At home, the hedgehog told his wife about the race.
“Are you certain?” asked Mrs Hedgehog. “The hare is the fastest creature in the meadow.”
“He is fast,” said the hedgehog calmly, “but he only thinks of running. He has not considered the hill. The grass is tall and slippery with dew, and the slope favours another way. Come and watch from the finish line.”

The hedgehog returned to the hilltop, where the hare waited, stretching his long legs.
“Ready to lose, little walker?” the hare said with a laugh.
“I am ready,” answered the hedgehog.
They took their places at the crest of the hill. The hare counted, “One, two, three, go!” and raced ahead into the tall grass.

The hare soon found the running harder than he expected. Long blades of clover caught at his ankles, and he had to lift his legs high with every step.
The hedgehog did not try to run at all. He tucked his chin, drew his legs close, and curled himself into a tight, prickly ball.
The hill was steep and the grass slick, and before long he began to roll smoothly downhill.

The hare glanced back, expecting to see the hedgehog far behind. Instead, he saw a round brown shape rushing past him, bouncing and spinning faster with each turn.
“That cannot be right,” the hare cried, running as hard as he could.
But the more he pushed himself, the more tired he became. The hedgehog did not tire at all. The hill carried him swiftly, and he gained speed with every yard.

With a soft thud, the hedgehog reached the flat ground at the bottom of the hill. He unrolled himself and brushed the dust from his coat just as the hare arrived, breathing hard and wide-eyed with surprise.
“Here I am,” said the hedgehog, standing by the Willow Tree.
The hare stared in disbelief. He had run with all his strength, yet the one he had mocked had arrived first.

The hare sat down on the grass, tired and thoughtful, and admitted that he had lost.
“Your legs are fine for running,” said the hedgehog kindly, “but every path favours a different way of moving, and it is not nice to laugh at another traveller.”
The hare handed over the gold piece with a nod of respect. The hedgehog called his wife, and together they walked home content, whilst the hare remained behind, thinking quietly about the hill.