Froggy's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

The throne held flat for one whole morning. Then Froggy's partner shifted on her side. "I'm hungry," she said. "I have to feed." Froggy felt the gold tilt the moment she spoke. If she left, her weight left with her. The pad would drop under him, slide down the water, and spill him toward the heron still waiting in its corner. Two frogs could rule the throne. One could not keep it. And no frog could sit forever without eating. "Wait," Froggy said. "If you go, I tip. If I go, you tip. We're stuck." He looked at the water. The heron stood with its neck folded, patient. It knew they could not stay up here forever. It only had to wait for one of them to move. Froggy studied the throne. It needed weight on both sides. Not two frogs. Weight. He scanned the pond's edge. Among the reeds sat a frog-shaped house, round and squat, with a leafy grin and a little round window. Chunks of old bark and leaf litter lay piled at its base, washed up against the wood. "The house," Froggy said. "See the heavy bark by it? If I drag a piece out and set it on my side, it holds my weight when you leave." She frowned. "And how do you get it here without tipping?" "You hold the high side. I go low and fast." He did not wait for her to argue. Froggy slid to the edge, spread his feet, and dove into the lane. The heron's head snapped up. It stabbed. Froggy kicked sideways and the beak missed by a hand. He reached the reeds and hauled himself onto the mud by the grinning house. The bark was heavy and wet. He bit the edge and pulled. It barely moved. He braced his back feet against the house's wooden base and shoved. The bark slid free of the litter. Behind him, the heron waded closer. Froggy rolled the bark into the shallows. It floated. He climbed on top and paddled with both back feet, steering it down the lane. The heron lunged. Froggy flattened himself. The beak clanged against the bark instead of flesh. The bird reared back, confused. "Push it to the low side!" his partner called. She leaned hard on the high edge, holding the pad as steady as she could. Froggy shoved the floating bark against the throne's low rim and heaved it up. It scraped onto the gold. He climbed up after it and dragged it to the center of his side. "Now let go slow," he said. She eased her weight off the high edge. The pad trembled. Froggy held his breath. The bark pressed down where his body had pressed before. The throne wobbled once, twice. Then it settled flat. Level. Steady, with a frog on one side and a slab of wet bark on the other. His partner laughed, shocked. She crossed to the low edge, slid into the lane, and swam for the reeds to feed. The pad did not move. The bark held her place. Froggy sat alone on his throne, dry and safe, the gold level beneath him for the first time. The heron screamed and waded back to its corner. It had no move left. The frogs could leave and return now, one at a time, and the throne would always hold. Froggy had crossed the whole pond for a seat that drowned him when he was alone. He had learned he could not keep it by himself. Now he had found the third thing that kept it steady when no frog could. His partner came back with a belly full of flies and took her place. They moved the bark to the center and shared the warm gold between them. From then on they ruled the lily pad in turns and together, trading the slab of bark for a frog whenever one grew hungry. The throne at the heart of the pond was his at last, and it held because he had stopped trying to hold it alone.