Croatian Tales of Long Ago - Malik Tintilin

Cra cra crackling a piece of ember jumped out of the fire. Hot and angry, he jumped around it and cursed the heat in a thin voice.
He finally calmed down. Chilled, he adjusted his red cap and smoothed his hair. He looked around. Someone had to light that fire. But there was no one in sight.
“In the name of Svarožić, what recklessness,“ he frowned. From the ground to the bush, from the bush to the branch, he hopped around trying to catch a glimpse of his creator. And then he heard him. A voice similar to his own was competing with the barking tuft that had just come running.
"Should I throw acorns at him or blow some pepper in his nose," Malik thought. Then a skinny boy with a bag of chestnuts came running, presumably to roast them on the fire.
Embers sparkled in Malik's eyes. He knew the three of them would have such a great time. He jumped up, did a somersault, and landed on the boy's left shoulder.