Look, my child, at the beetle I hold in my palm. It scuttles, and tickles, and looks busily for food. Would you like to hold it, child? I swear, by Tava's red feathers, that it shall not be hurtful to you. It is quite harmless, this beetle. At this size. For it will grow—yes, even as you will grow, so will this beetle. As you grow and grow until you reach woman's height, so will this beetle grow and grow. And in the fullness of time, you will cease to grow. But the beetle will grow on. Aye, it was so. Be happy, then, and forego all avarice—for here we have enough to live well, and a little more.