Once there was a great, great storm. Waves high as mountains, winds strong as giants.

But that's not important

What is important is the next day, when Old Man Acha comes walking down the beach, looking for bodies and treasure, the last remnants of ships gone to sleep in the storm. He has to pick his way carefully, 'cause the beach is littered in starfish, castaways from the deep. The storm plucked them from their watery beds and deposited the poor souls on the sandy shore. Acha steps around them - many still alive. He keeps ambling up the beach, minding his own business, when he spies a youngling. She's throwing starfish into the ocean, many as she can, but still not makin' a dent in the piles. The Old Man, he wonders at this and says:

"Why bother to throw back any? How can it matter when there are so many? You throw back one, you still left with a ton? You never save them all."

That little girl she doesn't even pause to glance his way. She just keeps on flinging those 'fish back in the sea. She stops only long enough to say:

"It matters to this one"

as she flings it into the ocean.

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