The tailor, the smallest of them all, didn't speak. He took out his tiny sewing kit. "Každej jak umí," he whispered.
"I am a man of letters," the scholar sighed. "I can recite the history of fire, but I cannot lift the wood to feed it." KaЕѕdej jak umГ
"I am a man of dough," the baker groaned. "My hands are for kneading, not for wrestling timber. I have no strength for this." The tailor, the smallest of them all, didn't speak
They were freezing, and the fire was dying. The only wood left was a massive, gnarled oak log in the corner that was too heavy to move and too tough to split. the smallest of them all