One chilly autumn morning, the Nightingale woke up with a scratchy, dry throat. She tried to sing, but only a small, raspy chirp came out. Panicked, she flew to the Wise Owl.
By the time the moon rose, the Nightingale felt a smooth, warm sensation in her throat. The "coating" of rest, hydration, and honey had worked. She opened her beak and a melody more crystal-clear than ever before flowed through the trees. From that day on, she never forgot that to give her best to the world, she first had to take care of herself.
She took a sip of lukewarm water from the sun-drenched pond. "Never icy, never boiling," the Owl had warned.
She visited the bees and took a tiny drop of golden honey. "This will soothe the irritation," the Bee buzzed.
"Owl," she croaked, "my voice is gone! I cannot sing for the forest tonight."
The hardest task of all was to stay completely silent for the rest of the day.