Tsuru No Ongaeshi Story |top| Now

Feeling great pity, the old man carefully untied the knots. The crane, now free, let out a joyful cry, spread its wide wings, and soared into the snowy sky. The old man continued home, thinking nothing more of it.

The old couple promised. The girl went into a small back room, and from behind the closed door came the soft, rhythmic click-clack of a loom. She wove all day and all night. When she finally emerged, exhausted, she held up a bolt of cloth—so brilliant and exquisite that it shimmered like moonlight on water. “Take this to the village market,” she said. “Sell it for a high price.”

That night, as the couple sat by their small, dim fire, they heard a knock at the door. Outside stood a young girl, her hair as black as a raven’s wing, shivering in the cold. “Please,” she said softly, “I am lost. May I stay the night?” tsuru no ongaeshi story

The old couple never saw her again. They kept the last piece of cloth she had woven as a treasure, but more than the riches, they mourned the loss of their dear, grateful daughter. And they never broke a promise again.

She stepped outside into the snow. As they watched, she spread her arms and became a crane again—pale, beautiful, but wounded. With a sorrowful cry, she rose into the dawn sky and flew toward the mountains, disappearing over the white peaks. Feeling great pity, the old man carefully untied the knots

The old woman took her inside, gave her warm broth, and offered her a place by the fire. The girl was so polite and graceful that the old couple grew fond of her instantly. When she learned they had no children of their own, she asked, “If you will have me, let me stay and be your daughter.”

Delighted, they agreed.

There was no girl. In the lamplight stood a slender white crane, plucking its own feathers and weaving them into the loom. The beautiful cloth was made from its own body. The crane’s legs were bare and bleeding; its once-glorious wings were thinning and raw. It was the same crane her husband had saved.