As the bitter wind whipped up a flurry of snow before them, the two young boys pulled their thinning fur coats tightly around their faces.

‘Come on!’ cried the elder of the pair. Although he had just turned eleven, his voice already possessed a gruff, husky quality. ‘That’s enough. Let’s get back home.’

The younger boy – only seven – picked up the pile of firewood they had been collecting and ran after the older boy, who was already striding away.

When they were halfway home, the children became aware of a faint cheeping noise coming from the trees. The older boy stopped in his tracks.

‘Do you hear that?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ replied the small boy. His arms were aching from the weight of the wood, and although they had been still for just a moment, he had started to shiver. ‘Can we get home, please? I’m tired.’

‘Don’t whine,’ the older boy snapped. ‘I’m going to investigate.’ He made his way to the base of a nearby birch and knelt down. Reluctantly, the smaller boy followed behind.

Before them, wriggling helplessly on the hard ground, was a baby sparrow no bigger than a rouble.

‘He’s fallen from the nest,’ the older boy sighed. ‘Or, I wonder . . . listen.’ The pair stood still in the snow, and eventually heard a high-pitched call from above. ‘Aha! That’s a cuckoo.’

‘The bird from the clock?’

‘Yes. But they are not friendly creatures. The cuckoo lays its eggs in the nests of other birds. Then, when the chick hatches, it pushes the other babies out.’ He sniffed. ‘That’s what’s happened here.’

‘Oh no.’ The smaller boy bent down and used his little finger to gently stroke the bird’s head. ‘It’s all right, friend, we’re here now.’ He looked up at his companion. ‘Maybe if we climb the tree, we can put him back.’ The boy attempted to spot the nest. ‘It must be very high up.’ Suddenly, there was a sickening crunch from the forest floor. He looked down to see that the older boy had crushed the chick under his boot.

‘What have you done?’ the small boy cried in horror.

‘The mother wouldn’t have accepted it. Best to kill it now.’

‘But . . . you don’t know that.’ Tears began to prick the boy’s brown eyes. ‘We could have tried.’

The elder of the pair put his hand up to dismiss the protestations. ‘There is no point in trying when something is doomed to failure. That is simply a waste of time.’ He continued down the hill. ‘Come on. Let’s get back.’

The younger boy bent down to look at the lifeless chick. ‘I’m sorry about my brother,’ he sobbed. ‘He is in pain. He didn’t mean to do this.’