Froggy's Arc

Chapter 4 of 6

Froggy crouched on the last small pad and stared at the throne. The golden lily pad rose above the water, slick and steep. On top sat a frog in a bright dress, her back to him. She had reached his throne first. Froggy did not know if she would hand it over or fight him for it. He swam the short gap and tried to climb. His feet slipped on the smooth edge. He fell back with a splash. He tried again, clawing at the rim. The frog in the dress turned and looked down at him. "You're scratching my throne," she said. Her voice was calm and clear. "It's a good throne. I found it this morning." "It's mine," Froggy said. He pulled himself higher and got one leg over the edge. "I crossed the whole pond for it. I beat the heron." She tilted her head. "The heron almost ate me too. That's why I climbed up here." She pointed a webbed finger back toward the lane. The gray bird still waded at the far mouth, hungry and watching. Froggy hauled his body onto the warm golden pad. Now they both stood on it. The throne was wide, but not wide enough for two frogs to rule. He puffed out his throat to look bigger. She did not move. "I won't share," Froggy said. "Neither will I," she said. She set her feet and leaned toward him. The dress swayed. Her eyes did not blink. They circled each other on the slick pad. Froggy's foot slid. He caught himself. He saw how steep the edge dropped to the water, and how the heron watched for any frog that fell. One hard shove would send them both back into the lane, into the beak. Froggy stopped. He looked at her, then at the bird. "If we fight, we both go in the water," he said. "The heron wins." She glanced at the gray guard. For the first time her shoulders dropped. "Then I go to the reeds," she said. "You can have the throne. I don't want the beak more than I want the seat." She crouched at the far edge, spread her feet, and leaped. She slid down the slick gold, hit the water clean, and swam fast for the reeds. The heron stabbed, missed, and screamed. She vanished into the green stalks. Froggy stood alone on the throne. The sun warmed his back. He had won it. He had the seat at the heart of the pond. Then he felt it. The golden pad tipped under his weight. Slow at first, then faster. With only one frog, nothing held the far side down. The throne leaned toward the open water, toward the waiting heron, and began to slide.