About the Pike with Sharp Teeth

On the night of Ivan's Day, a pike was born in the Sheksna River, and it was so toothy that it was a sight to behold.

Bream, perch, and ruffe gathered to gawk at it and marveled at such a wonder:
- What a toothy pike has been born!

And it began to grow not by the day but by the hour: every day, it grew by an inch.
The pike started prowling around the Sheksna, catching bream and perch: from afar, it would spot a bream, snap it up—and the bream would vanish, leaving only bones crunching between its teeth.

What a commotion happened on the Sheksna!

What were the bream and perch to do? It was a dire situation: the pike would eat them all, leaving nothing behind.
All the small fish gathered and began to ponder: how to deal with this toothy, voracious pike.

Then Ruffe Ruffovich arrived and quickly spoke up:
- Enough pondering and racking your brains! Listen to what I have to say. Life is miserable for us all here in the Sheksna. Let’s move to smaller rivers—the Sizma, Konoma, and Slavenka. There, no one will bother us, and we’ll live happily.

And so, all the ruffe, bream, and perch left the Sheksna for the smaller rivers—the Sizma, Konoma, and Slavenka.
As they traveled, a cunning fisherman caught many of their kin with his fishing rod and cooked them into fish soup.

From then on, there were very few small fish left in the Sheksna. The toothy pike caused a lot of trouble, but in the end, it didn’t fare well either.
With no small fish left, the pike started snapping at worms and ended up caught on a hook. The fisherman cooked it into fish soup, slurped it up, and praised it: the soup was so rich and fatty.

I was there, slurping the soup with him. It dripped down my mustache but never made it into my mouth. Fairy girl