Yana and The Magic Feather
Yana and her father prepare to make her late mother’s famous blueberry jam for the Festival of the Sun.
High in the Andes Mountains a girl named Yana lived with her father on their small family farm. Their blueberry bushes produced some of the sweetest berries in all the valleys.
Yana’s mother would pop a blueberry in her daughter’s mouth and say, “A blueberry for you is twice as sweet for me.” Her blueberry jam had been famous throughout the region. The secret: a splash of lime juice and a touch of lavender.
“A blueberry for you is twice as sweet for me.”
But sadly, Yana’s mother had passed away earlier that year. The Festival of the Sun – Inti Raymi – was coming up in June, and her father said, “Yana, let’s make your mother’s jam for the Festival this year. That’s how we can honor her memory.”
So when Yana woke one June morning and found half the blueberry patch picked clean, her breath caught in her throat.
“Papa!” she called.
“How can this be?” he muttered, staring at the clipped and broken blueberry twigs and branches.
“How can this be?”
Yana bent low, noticing the clean, angled cuts on the twigs and the droppings nearby. “This is a rabbit!” she said.
Her father sighed. “If we lose more, we’ll have nothing left to make her jam.”
They hung bells around the patch, hoping to scare off the thief. But the next morning, another section of their blueberry patch was stripped bare.
That night, her father sat guard with his bandolín, determined to stay awake. Yana brought him a blanket.
“Let’s take shifts,” she said.
“No thanks, honey,” he said. “You go home to sleep.”
At dawn, he was asleep in the grass, the bandolín across his chest, and yet another section of berry bushes was stripped bare.
Yana walked to the creek to think.
Yana walked to the creek to think.
There, stretched between two wild shrubs, she noticed a spider’s web catching the morning light. A beetle was stuck fast, its wings twitching. Yana admired the elegant pattern of the web, then was struck by an idea and hurried home.
That day, she wove thin strings into a snare between the low branches of the last bushes. The lines were nearly invisible.
Then she waited as darkness fell.
A soft rustle in the dark. A gray shape crept toward the bush. Suddenly, a rabbit hopped forward to the bush—and caught. The string tangled around its legs and belly. It thrashed, panicked.
Just then, a shadow swept overhead. A condor. It swooped toward her bushes, where the rabbit was captured.
Yana leapt from her hiding place, arms raised. “Shoo!” she shouted. The large bird shrieked and veered off into the mountains.
The rabbit blinked at her. “You… saved me,” it said.
Yana froze. “You can talk?”
“I’m no ordinary rabbit,” the creature said, sitting back on its haunches with dignity.
“I can see that,” said Yana. “But what are you? Who are you?”
“My name is Sisa. I was once human, like you.”
“My name is Sisa. I was once human, like you.”
“That’s crazy wild!” exclaimed Yana. Then her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been eating our blueberries!”
“I know.”
“We were going to make my mother’s special blueberry jam for the Festival of the Sun. Now she’s gone and…” She could only gesture at the broken, empty bushes behind them.
“Oh!” exclaimed Sisa. “I had no idea about your mother. I’m so sorry!” “How could one rabbit eat all these berries, anyway?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Sisa.
“They weren’t all for me. There’s a warren of baby rabbits in the rocks over there—orphans. They love the berries I’ve been bringing them.”
Sisa and Yana gazed at each other. What could they make of each other? Sisa absentmindedly stroked a single, iridescent feather around her neck, green and violet.
Yana broke the silence. “Pretty necklace.”
“It’s more than that,” said Sisa. “This feather is magic.”
“This feather is magic.”
“How so?”
“When I was human,” said the rabbit. “I wanted so badly a certain montera hat for the Festival of Guaranda. Every bit of it was covered in sequins and red beads, even the chin strap, and the fibers were so thin and tight it felt like silk.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“But I couldn’t afford it. I knew the village bruha sorceress was making a magic feather that could grant one wish. I watched through her window and saw her set it down and leave the room. So I…”
“You took it?”
“What was I thinking?” wailed the rabbit. “Of course she knew I took it! She said, ‘If you want to live selfishly, you’ll live small and silent.’ Then she transformed me into this.”
“That’s wild.”
“Worst of all, the bruha left the magic feather around my neck so I’d always remember how I got this way.”
“Why don’t you just use the wish to become human?”
“I can’t,” Sisa said. “Only a human can use it.” Sisa gave a strange look to Yana. Then she bent her rabbit head forward, slipped the cord over her ears, and handed the feather to her.
“I can’t,” Sisa said. “Only a human can use it.”
“What are you doing?”
“Take it,” said Sisa. “I can’t use it anyway. Wish all those berries back.”
Yana’s heart leapt at the prospect. She looked at Sisa’s hopeful face and at the empty blueberry bushes behind them. She pictured how the bushes looked when they were heavy with fruit. And she remembered her mother’s saying as she popped a berry in her mouth: “A blueberry for you is twice as sweet for me.”
“Yes, that is how I’ll honor Mother’s memory this year,” she thought. Closing her eyes, she said, “I wish for Sisa to return to being human again.”
Mist swirled and when it cleared, a girl Yana’s age stood there – with dark hair, gray eyes, and a startled smile.
“You could have had all those berries back!” said Sisa.
“There will be other seasons for blueberries,” said Yana. “This was your only chance.” Sisa stared at her.
“You know,” said Yana. “Something I just thought of. There’s a lady who makes the finest montera hats around. She ends up with extra materials and sometimes lets people work for them instead of paying money.”
“Really? Where?”
“Her shop is past the marketplace. But I know a shortcut.”
“…I know a shortcut.”
They set off together. Yana led them through a dense thicket, pushing aside thorny branches and climbing over logs.
“I’m not sure I love your shortcut,” Sisa said with a rueful smile as a branch snagged her hair. Then, “Wait! Yana, stop! Are these…blueberries?”
They took a step back and looked around. Could it be?
Could it be?
“This is crazy – a wild blueberry patch?” said Yana. She popped one in her mouth. “Delicious!”
She popped one in her mouth.
Sisa gobbled them, too, nodding excitedly.
“Sisa,” said Yana, her mouth full, “can you find this patch again?”
“No problem!” said Sisa. “I spent enough time as a rabbit to know my way around.”
And so that year at the Festival of the Sun, Yana and her father displayed two kinds of blueberry jam. The “Classic” variety was made from the mother’s recipe, using the berries they had left. And the new flavor they named: “Crazy Wild.”
Source:
Retold by World Stories Bank from an old Ecuadorian folk tale.
Adapted by World Stories Bank ©2025, all rights reserved.
Footnote:
Lake Titicaca is so high up in the mountains that if it were in Europe, it would sit above the tallest peaks in Switzerland and Austria! It’s also huge—more than twice the size of all their lakes put together. On the quiet Bolivian side, visitors can explore ancient Incan ruins, meet families who make colorful crafts, and hear stories that keep the lake’s history alive.
