Froggy's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

Froggy wanted the lily pad at the center of the pond for his throne, but mud blocked his view. He sat in the shallows, chin level with the water. Reeds rose thick around him. Cattails leaned close, their brown tops fat as fists. He saw stems, mud, and more stems. He could not see the pad itself. A king must know his road to the crown. Froggy saw only green walls. He pushed off and swam a short loop. The reeds only closed tighter. He bumped a stone and stopped. The water here lay flat and dark. It showed him his own frowning face, nothing more. He slapped the surface with one webbed foot. Drops flew. The ripples spread, then died. Still no pad, no path, no plan. "You're stuck," said a small voice behind him. Froggy turned. A tiny frog clung to a reed near the waterline. Hoppy, the youngest in the shallows, barely bigger than a beetle. Froggy had chased this little one off his hunting spots a dozen times. Hoppy's huge eyes watched him now without fear. "I am not stuck," Froggy said. "I am planning." "You can't see anything down here," Hoppy said. "Nobody can. That's why I climb." Froggy opened his mouth to argue. Then he watched Hoppy. The small frog gripped the reed and pulled upward, one grip at a time. The stem bent under the tiny weight. Hoppy climbed until the reed tipped sideways, high above the mud. "The sunny pad is that way," Hoppy called down. "Past three pads and a floating leaf. There's a clear lane of water. I can see all of it." Froggy stared at the reed. He was far heavier than Hoppy. A single stem would snap under him. But Hoppy's idea was sound. Height beat mud. He needed something taller and stronger. He looked at the cattails. Three of them stood close together in a tight clump. Their stems were thick, almost finger-width. Froggy waded to them and gripped the center one. It held. He pulled himself up, legs hugging the stalk, and the three stems leaned into each other and braced his weight. He climbed. Mud fell away below. The green walls dropped. At the top, the whole pond opened before him. He saw the sunlit pad at the heart of the water, broad and golden. He saw the lane Hoppy named, a clear path between the smaller pads. He traced it with his eyes, grip by grip, leap by leap. The route was his now. "I see it," Froggy breathed. Then the cattails gave a slow, wet crack. His weight was too much. The clump began to lean toward the open water, bending faster. Froggy clung tight as the stems bowed low, carrying him out over the deep pond, straight toward a startled heron standing in the shallows below.