In a green leaf lived a tiny caterpillar. Her name was Vika.
Vika crawled along a stem and looked up. Bees, butterflies, and dragonflies were flying above. They were so light and happy!
"Oh, how I wish I could fly!" sighed Vika. "Why don't I have wings?"
But the bees didn't hear her. They buzzed and fluttered from flower to flower.
"I want to be like them," whispered Vika. "But I can only crawl."
One day, an old ground beetle said to her, "Don't be sad, Vika. Every caterpillar has its time. Someday you will fly too."
Vika didn't really believe it. But she decided to wait.
She spun herself a little cocoon. Soft and warm, like a blanket. And she fell asleep inside.
She slept for a long, long time. She dreamed she was flying over the meadow, over the river, over the tall trees.
Then one morning she woke up. The sun shone through the cocoon. Vika stretched—and suddenly felt something behind her back.
She climbed out. And saw: instead of her little body, she had beautiful big wings! They were orange with black spots.
Vika flapped her wings—and flew up!
"I'm flying! I'm flying!" she cried.
She flew over the flowers. The bees buzzed, "Look, what a pretty butterfly!"
Vika smiled. She wasn't jealous anymore. Because now she could fly herself.
The sun warmed her wings. Vika landed on a daisy and opened her eyes wide. Everything around was so bright, so familiar. Only now she saw it from above.
Vika sighed happily. And flew on.