Don't be precious a fable.

Once upon a time there was a boy named Peter

who lived in a small gloomy village surrounded by deep dark woods.

Peter was a quiet boy, always neat and careful. He never ventured too far from home,

never dirtied his hands, and never tried anything unless he was certain he could do it perfectly.

The villagers would sometimes whisper about him, shaking their heads and saying,

he's too precious that boy, too afraid to take a single step unless he knows the ground won't crack beneath him.

One cold autumn evening, an old woman came through the village market. She was bent over with age, her face a map of

wrinkles, and her eyes sharp as hawks claws. The villagers muttered and gave her wide

birth, for it was said she was a witch, one who lived deep in the woods where no sane person would dare go.

Peter, of course, stayed well away from her as she hobbled past.

But the old woman stopped suddenly and turned her piercing gaze toward him.

You there, she croaked.

You're the precious one, aren't you?

Peter froze. He didn't like to be noticed, especially not by someone so strange.

I, I suppose so, he stammered the old woman's mouth twisted into a wry smile

Preciousness can be a curse you know she said too afraid to fail, too afraid to fall.

But let me tell you something, boy.

Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.

Peter frowned, unsure what to say.

It sounded ridiculous to him.

But if you do something badly, it's not worth doing at all, he said.

...