Months go by. Cold winds whip snowflakes past the anthill. Between the gusts of wind, the a ears a thin flutter, like the shivering of papery wings. He puts down his supper bowl and looks out a hole which the vicious wind has opened. There stands the grasshopper, wrapped in a scrap of corn husk. Hey, ant. Good buddy. How about a little food? Whatever you've got, I'm starving. The ant moves a pebble toward the opening to shutout the storm. "Sorry, grasshopper. We need all the food we've got. Winter's tough. You had the to prepare for it, slips into place, and the grasshopper rustles off in search of another place to beg.