Kari gave a great sigh.
"Very well," she said. "I cannot live without knowing how to dance as you do."
"Then, spread your wings out on this stone," said the Puralka.
So Kari spread her great wings across the stone, and the Puralkas cut them off quite close to her body with their sharp beaks.
Then they said,
"Stand up."
Kari stood up, feeling very naked and queer without her wings. Then the Puralkas began to dance again, faster and faster; and they danced upon her wing-feathers that had been cut off, scattering them with their feet until there were not two left together, and the wind came and took the feathers, so that they floated away over the tops of the trees and mounted out of sight. Then the Puralkas laughed again, just as they had laughed before, until Kari's head rang with the noise of it.
"When will you teach me?" she asked timidly.
"Teach you!" cried the Puralkas. "What a joke! What a joke!" They burst out laughing again. Then, to Kari's amazement, they unfolded their wings and shook them in her face. The whole green patch of grass was full of the fluttering of the long grey wings.
"You said you had none!" she cried.