a painting of a man standing in front of a house next to a stream

In a small, humble village, nestled in the rolling hills, there lived a poor farmer named Jaro. His life was a constant struggle, working long hours in his fields just to scrape by. His house was a modest wooden structure, worn by the seasons, and his food was simple: just enough to get by. Every day, he toiled under the sun, planting crops and tending to his animals, always hoping for a better tomorrow. One chilly autumn morning, as Jaro wandered through the muddy paths of his farm, he heard a soft quacking sound. Looking around, he spotted a lone duck waddling by the edge of the pond. The duck was not like any other he had seen before. It had a strange, almost mystical aura around it, and its feathers shimmered in the early morning light. Curious, Jaro approached it and, with a gentle hand, brought the duck closer. The farmer, knowing the importance of every animal on his farm, wondered if the duck would lay eggs, which he could sell to improve his meager lifestyle. But when the du