Barney the Frog's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

By morning the rain had thinned to a drizzle. Barney stood at the shed door and looked down the slope. Two shelters full of animals. One debt. The hedgehog had asked for firewood, reeds, and berries, and Barney had said yes without knowing where any of it would come from. The storm had beaten the swamp flat. The reed beds were pulped. The berry canes near the water were stripped and broken. Billy Bear came up the slope with his flannel soaked through. "I walked the ridge. Berry bushes are snapped. Anything the wind didn't take, the water did." He wiped his snout. "I can cut firewood. Reeds we can pull from the high side of the flat, some of them. But berries, Barney, I got nothing." "He'll say the deal's off," Barney said. "He'll put them back in the rain." "Then we find berries." Barney thought. The low ground was ruined. Anything that survived would be on high dirt, under cover, where wind couldn't reach. He remembered a mound past the leaning rocks, an old fox den nobody used. Roots grew thick over it. Brambles too. "Follow me." They climbed past the hollow. The old den sat under a lip of earth, its mouth dark, its sides wrapped in tangled roots. Wild canes had grown up through the roots for years. Barney pushed into the thicket. The roof of roots had held. Underneath, the canes still carried fruit — dark, wet, but whole. Clusters of them. Billy laughed once, short. "Look at that." They picked until Billy's shirt was heavy with them. Barney's throat sac worked. It would be enough. Not generous. Enough. They carried the load down to the leaning rocks. The hedgehog was outside, poking the fire pit with his stick. He watched them come. Billy set the bundle down and opened it. Barney laid a stack of split wood beside it, and a tied sheaf of reeds Frank had cut on the way. "Firewood. Reeds. Berries," Barney said. "As promised." The hedgehog crouched. He picked up a berry, turned it, sniffed it, ate it. He looked at the wood. He counted the reeds with one claw. "You said after the rain stopped," he said. "It hasn't stopped." "It's stopping," Barney said. "I didn't want to owe you another day." The hedgehog grunted. He pulled the bundle inside the hollow with his stick. "Deal's kept. Your kits stay dry till they can walk home." Barney hopped back down the slope beside Billy. His legs shook. The debt was closed. The shelters were safe. Halfway down, a squirrel came running up the path, breath ragged. "Barney. The rabbit's kits. One of them's got a fever. She's asking for you." Barney didn't answer. He jumped past the squirrel toward the shed.