Froggy's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

Froggy crouched in the reeds and watched the heron. The bird stood still in the clear lane, legs like gray sticks in the shallows. Its beak pointed at the water, waiting. Froggy needed that lane. It was the only open road to the golden throne. But every time he leaned toward the water, the long neck turned his way. He could not cross. Not while the guard stood watch. He needed the heron to look somewhere else. He needed noise, movement, anything to pull those wet eyes off the lane. A soft hum buzzed near his ear. Froggy flinched. A bumblebee bumped against a seed head beside him. Its wings shone like drops of dew, thin and bright. The fuzzy body tumbled from stalk to stalk, drunk on the swaying reeds. It paid Froggy no mind at all. Froggy watched it bounce. An idea came. The heron hunted things that moved. If something buzzed and flashed across the water, the bird might strike at it instead of the lane. He crept close. The bee crawled along a low reed, wings twitching. Froggy judged the gap. Then he lunged and swatted the stalk with his back foot. The reed whipped. The bee shot free in a loud, angry spiral, straight out over the open water. The heron's head snapped toward the sound. Its eyes locked on the bright, buzzing dot. The long neck coiled back. Froggy did not wait. He dove into the clear lane and swam. His legs kicked hard. Water pushed past his face. He kept his eyes on the first small pad ahead and did not look back. Behind him the beak struck. It missed the darting bee once, twice. The bee climbed higher, out of reach, and droned away over the reeds. The heron stabbed at empty air. Froggy reached the first pad and pulled himself up. He crouched low and glanced back. The heron had turned. Its eyes found the ripples in the lane. It saw him now. The bird took one long step toward him. Then another. But Froggy was past it, on the far side, closer to the throne than the heron could reach in a single stride. The clear lane lay open ahead, a line of small pads leading to the broad golden one at the pond's heart. The heron screamed and beat its wings. Too slow. Froggy leaped to the second pad, then the third. Each landing held his weight. The guard was behind him now, not in front. Froggy stopped on the last small pad and caught his breath. The golden throne floated just ahead, wide and warm in the sun. He had crossed the lane. The heron still waded at the lane's mouth, hungry and cheated. But the throne sat higher than he had thought. Its edge rose above the water, slick and steep. And near its rim, something moved in the sunlight, already resting where Froggy meant to rule.