Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the soft grounds of the cold, wet peatland that comprised the southwest of the province of Frog Valley, stood a town of little more than five thousand inhabitants called Wartwood. It was a raggedy old place populated mostly by farmers, colorful townies and the occasional retired adventurer, and its hostility to any and all outsiders made it famous through the valley. It was known that when the current mayor, Gordon Toastool, moved in from the Toad Duchy of Snarlsburg in the cold southern coast with his son Frodrick, townies and farmers united to show their disregard for their imposing and naturally toadish presence, and their fraudulent victory at the urns. Duckweed, the local newtopian nuisance, with his oh-so-cosmopolitan manners and refined tastes, had scoffed at the very clear sign on the town gates warning him that wartwoodians were ‘slow to accept and even slower to respect’, as if he were a magical exception. He was not. He quickly made a career in writing journalistic notes demeaning the backward ways of the province in comparison to the metropolitan opulence of the imperial capital, which did not help his popularity.

No, wartwoodians had little interest in outsiders. Outsiders only brought conflict and trouble, and new ideas they had no need for. If it weren’t western toadlords sacking their lands, it was those snobs from Swamp Shiro or Lily Paddington, the larger towns in the north of the valley, with their ridiculous notions of rotating crops to let the soil rest. Ha! They thought the earth got tired! If it wasn’t a wise newtopian scholar speaking – as newtopian scholars had knowledge far beyond that of frogs –, they had no business making the good, hard-working frogs of Frog Valley waste their time on talk of Toad Tower schemes and politics, or tales of heroic newt knights fighting elephant bloodworms in faraway lands. That was Hoppediah Plantar’s personal philosophy. If it won’t make your crops grow healthier,  why bother? If it won’t secure your family’s position in society, why risk it? That is why he kept his mouth shut when he heard the distant cries coming from the forest on that warm night of spring. No frog-eating crow or parrot would fool him, and if it was a frog, well, he hoped truly and from the bottom of his heart that they made their way out of the forest on their own. But tonight was his daughter’s wedding, and he had more important matters to attend to.

Oh, his dearest Leafey. She was tall for a frog, almost as tall as Felicia Sundew, Sylvia’s daughter. Her bright coral skin was so much shinier and smoother than Hoppediah’s, which was orange, warty and calloused, and it looked beautiful in contrast to her white and gold dress, and the light lilies woven in her auburn hair. Always the happy kid, she laughed and laughed as she spun around in circles hand in hand with Thistle, her new husband – now also a Plantar. Thistle was shorter, chunkier and rounder than Leafey, his skin a sky blue color, and with a lot less shine to it. His eyes had a droopy look to them, as if he were perpetually tired or overwhelmed, but in his wife’s arms in the middle of the town square, surrounded by all their friends and loved ones, he looked happier than Hoppediah had ever seen him. 

The wedding lasted well into the early morning, with guests retiring slowly as the hours drifted by. It was three when Hoppediah, with the help of his dear Sylvia and her Felicia Sundew, old Sadie Croaker, and Leopold Loggle, the local woodsmith and a good friend, began to withdraw the plates and glasses from the long tables circling the dance floor, all  around the statue of some old hero no one remembered the name of. They folded the tables and chairs as the last few dancing guests slowly came to a stop, and the dancing died out. Being a frog meant hard work, and they all had matters to attend to tomorrow. 

Hoppediah saddled up good ol’ Bessie and attached the old wagon to the back of her shell, so that when the merry newlyweds came stumbling back to them, arm in arm and giggling like a pair of cock-eyed pollywogs, he’d see his daughter and his new son-in-law into their wedding carriage and drive them back home.

It was more of a cart than a carriage, what with the way the new tax policy discouraged ownership of more than one means of transportation per frog family, and the old Plantar family cart seemed to count as one in the eyes of Toad Tower, so, alongside Sadie, Loggle and Sylvia, he had to drag the ancient thing from the depths of Bessie’s stable and patch it up as best as they could. Loggle took care of the necessary repairments while Sylvia and Sadie repainted it and sewed new cushions. Hoppediah put in the last of his life’s savings for it, what remained of them after the costs of the wedding. He was happy to see it well-spent. Every time he saw the radiant smile on Leafey’s face, his heart swelled with pride and joy. She had danced in circles all night long, indulged in the pastries Sylvia’s daughter had oh so kindly made for them, and sang to the rhythm of the music Wally and Loggle played, though she didn’t seem to enjoy anything more than she did hearing Thistle stumble around as he played his fiddle. Together they made a lovely couple. Every second they shared, every look between them made every room they were in brim with light and joy. Hoppediah had to admit, he’d hardly believed in love before, but Leafey always had her ways of teaching him a thing or two.

“Well, it seems to me the little love doves are in need of a good night’s rest,” he said when they arrived.

“Pops!” Leafey giggled, and hiccuped. “I’m a big girl now! Don’t make me go to bed early!”

“It’s not even sunup!” Thistle added.

“It’s not even sunup!”

Hoppediah caught a whiff of alcohol in their breaths and he made a face. A big girl indeed , he thought. Leafey was twenty-four, old enough to drink alright, and this wasn’t even the tipsier he’d seen her, but the whole night had him feeling a lot of emotion, and suddenly, he felt too soft and nostalgic to be annoyed.

“You two get in the carriage,” he said. “Let your old Hop Pop take you home.”

Leafey took Thistle’s hand.

“Come on! I’ll race you to the cart!” She said, not noticing they would be arriving together.

“Not if I race you first!”

They took off laughing and tripping over their own feet. Hoppediah looked at them and chuckled.

Sadie, Sylvia, Loggle and even Wally had helped pick up a large part of the chairs and tables and lights scattered around the town square, and Hoppediah would see to the rest once Leafey and Thistle were home, before mayor Gordon Toadstool came banging on his door at five in the morning and give him two weeks worth of community service for public loitering. The old toad was loud and nettlesome and was always up on everybody’s business like he had none of his own. If he were him, Hoppediah would be more concerned with whatever strange relationship his mudworm of a son Frodrick had with that Toadie lad, but it seemed like the mayor much preferred to pay impromptu visits to innocent citizens and pull up excuses to grate them. He would rather spare Leafey and Thistle the inconvenience on the day of their wedding.

So once the last guest had left, he snapped old Bessie’s reins, and they got going. It was a beautiful starry night, and the soft spring breeze weaved through the tall grass of the marshland through which Bessie dragged the carriage. It tipped from one side to the other in the muddy road, but that only seemed to make Leafey and Thistle giggle and hold on to each other. Hoppediah smiled to himself.

“Young love, Bessie,” he sighed. “You know, I thought I’d experienced it once, too. Oh, she was a beauty. I didn’t know what love was back then, of course. Thought passion and emotion was enough.” He chuckled under his breath at his past self. He’d met Leafey’s mother on a warm night of summer, and they’d shared a beautiful water dance in the depths of the bog, under the silky, wavering moonlight. The embrace they shared left him with a coral-colored egg in his hands upon her quick departure. “Life comes and goes like that, I suppose, but she left me with the most beautiful memories, and the most beautiful daughter.”

Bessie chirped in agreement, and Hoppediah chuckled again.

“Oh, but Bessie, my old friend, now I see that a night of adventure in my youth could not compare to what true love really is.” He glanced back at the carriage, where Leafey and Thistle now slept peacefully, tucked neatly into each other. Leafey was tall enough that Thistle’s head fit perfectly on her shoulder. As a little girl, when he first showed her the family shrub, she’d asked if she was so tall because of her ancestor, Emma the Newt, to which Hoppediah had laughed and explained that Emma the Newt had been adopted, and that frogs, toads and newts could not have children together. She’d always been fascinated by the family past, insisting even on fastening her wedding cloak with the old, rusty, leaf-shaped copper brooch that belonged to an ancestor so old, that not even Hoppediah remembered their name. She’d been little when she found it, paddling around in her little legs with her tadpole tail swinging around in every direction when she raised it proudly in her hands and exclaimed ‘Pops! Look what I found!’

When they arrived on the farm, he helped both of them into the house and up the stairs. Both were still a bit too groggy, and Thistle stumbled down the stairs twice before Leafey managed to help pull him up, between girlish giggles and excessive hand-holding. Leafey seemed a lot more awake after her short nap, and insisted on helping her father go pick up the remaining chairs and tables and leftover food from the town square, despite his suggestion that she stay with Thistle and try to sleep.

“I can’t leave it all to you, old man,” she snickered. “What will be of you when you’re old and wrinkly and will need me to change your pants?”

“Well, when the time comes, I would like to have a daughter that respects me,” he grumbled. While Thistle snored upstairs, Leafey changed into a simple shirt and trousers, and they took Bessie and went back to town. She squirmed on her seat all the way there.

“I’m just so excited, Pops!” She exclaimed. “I’m a married woman now! Can you believe it?”

He gave her an adoring smile.

“You know, you could never stay still as a tadpole either,” he said. “I remember when you were no more than a little egg! Only days before hatching, and you were already rolling around the entire house!”

“Aw, don’t get nostalgic on me now, Pops. I’ll cry if you cry.”

Once they arrived at the town square, they tidied up together. Hoppediah would have much preferred it that the newlyweds enjoyed their rest together at home, rather than having the bride, his beautiful daughter, clean up after her own party, but it seemed to be in her nature to stay always active and be always helpful. She’d always been very clean and tidy as a child, and she’d learned to cook, ride, and calculate taxes by the age of fifteen. She’d often take over the stall whenever Hoppediah was sick or otherwise unable to do it himself. It was not surprising at all to him that she’d want to pick up the last foldable tables and chairs herself, tossing them at her father to load them onto Bessie’s cart.

“Hey, Pops, catch this!” she said, throwing a bundle of folded tablecloths at him, which he only barely caught. He felt something creak loudly in his legs.

“I would appreciate a little more consideration for your old Pops' knees next time,” he groaned, storing the last of the remaining paraphernalia in the cart. “I may be only fifty-eight, but my joints are not what they used to be.”

“Aren’t you an actor, Pops? You need to stay in shape!” She hopped onto Bessie’s shell. “You won’t win any auditions in Newtopia if you can’t do an action scene without your joints complaining in the middle of it.”

Hoppediah chuckled. He climbed onto the saddle with effort.

“And here I thought we’d had this conversation already. My days in theater are over, child.”

They rode in silence for a bit, the wind picking up and whistling all around them. Somewhere far away, he heard a distant cry. Some kind of bird, perhaps.

Leafey said:

“Did you know Sylvia is leaving Wartwood?”

He jerked the reins back, and Bessie came to a stop with a screeching halt.

“She what!?”

“Wow, I can’t believe she didn’t tell you anything! What’s up with that?”

“Please don’t kid with me, Leafey.”

“What? I’m not! Felicia told me! She’s planning on leaving next year!” Leafey jabbed a finger into his ribcage. “And you are going with her.”

Hoppediah grimaced and pushed her hand away.

“I would have liked to be informed where I’d be taking residence,” he grumbled. “Leafey, I can’t leave Wartwood on a whim. My whole life is here! You just got married! What if – what if you have eggs?”

“That’s exactly why I told Sylvia you’re leaving too! Thistle and I will take care of the farm, and you’ll finally have the time to do what you truly love! Go back to college! I heard the program for Dramatic Arts at Newtopia University is really good!”

He glared at her.

“One does not need a title to tell you whether or not you can make art, Leafey!” He exclaimed, suddenly offended. “The art of theater comes from the soul! It cannot be contained! You are born with it!” He blinked. “Wait. Did you say you already told Sylvia I’m leaving with her?”

“Yeah, yeah, all of that, see? Proving my point!” She said. “So, will you go? Be happy? Please?”

“Leafey…”

“What? I got married today. You can’t be mad at me on my wedding day!”

“See, that’s the problem with you. Always thinking you know what’s best for everyone else!”

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m only sparing you scolding because I refuse to ruin your wedding day, Leafey Lilypad Plantar, but in the name of Frog, when this day passes…”

“Shh!”

“Don’t you hush me, young lady! You’re not the one who has to  face Sylvia and watch the disappointment in her eyes when I–”

“Shh!” Leafey repeated, sharply smushing his lips with her finger. The wind was loud, and it weaved itself around the high grasses of the valley. But beneath the harsh sound, he could hear something. The same cry from before, now closer, more ragged and broken. It sounded a lot like a crying child, and it came from the woods.

Leafey stared straight ahead, looking ready to jump. She turned to her father.

“It could be a bird…” he grumbled.

“Come on! Does that sound like a bird to you?”

“I mean…”

“It’s probably just a lost tadpole.” She tilted her head. “Care for a little detour, old man?”

He rolled his eyes. He could never say no to her, not when she got like that, all righteous and stubborn and fundamentally good . He smiled and nodded with determination. He opened the compartment on Bessie’s shell and took the berries stored there. He fed them to the snail and cried:

“Bessie, things are getting messy!”

And with that, Bessie chirped and broke into a race towards the edge of the woods, sliding effortlessly in her own slime. While Hoppediah jerked around the reins, Leafey held tightly onto his shoulder and used her tongue to stir them among the trees, avoiding rocks and fallen logs and sweeping through the bushes as they looked for the source of the sound.

“There! Inside that cave!” She said, pointing at a small crevice in the rock that Hoppediah would hardly call a cave. Leafey hopped off Bessie before she even stopped, and Hoppediah quickly pulled back the reins. 

The woods were completely dark save for the small patch of light surrounding the lantern hanging perilously from Bessie’s saddle, and Hoppediah’s heart jumped into his throat as he saw his daughter disappear in the darkness. He regretted indulging her heroic pretenses in that instant. He grabbed the lantern and climbed off the saddle.

“Leafey?” He called. If she answered, he couldn’t hear her: the crying was ear-splitting now, and impossibly close. Leafey probably thought she wouldn’t need a light at all, which was a very classical thing for her to think. He ignored the little voice in his head telling them they were probably going to be eaten by some kind of sound-mimicking bird (on the day of Leafey’s wedding, no less! And leaving poor Thistle all alone on the farm…) and focused instead on following the ragged cries (hopefully not into the mouth of the scorpio-lio).

He heard Leafey then. He couldn’t before because she spoke so quietly, but now he did, and he saw her standing and talking to someone not too deep into the cave.

“Hey, shh, shhhh,” she was saying. “Hey, look, it’s okay! Shh! You’re going to attract something!” She looked helplessly at her father. “Pops, it won’t stop crying! How do I make it stop crying?”

Hoppediah’s eyes widened. Never in his fifty-eight years of life had he seen a creature like that, and as far as his reading of the family tome went, neither had any of their ancestors. The creature stood on two legs, one head shorter than Leafey. It had a full head of big bushy hair, brown skin that looked dangerously dry, a flat face with a small bump in the middle, and it wore clothes like any other frog, though a bit strange: short denim pants and a white-and-purple striped shirt. A pink backpack hung from its shoulders. It actually did look a lot more like a frog than any other creature, but despite being nearly as tall as an adult, it cried like a small child. Leafey was on the money on that. Tears and snot soaked its face, and its mouth hung open to loudly sob and heave. When it stopped screaming, it breathed raggedly and with desperation, as if it couldn’t get enough air in its lungs. It stumbled away from Leafey whenever she tried to reach out for it, only crying louder.

Hoppediah stepped back.

“What is that thing!?” He blurted out, and the creature wailed.

“Shh! You’re making it worse!”

“I had never seen one quite like it…”

“Honey, sweetie, can you tell us your name?” Leafey asked the creature.

“I don’t think that thing can even talk,” Hoppediah said. “We shouldn’t be out here for long anyway. It’s not a frog, Leafey. Its mom is probably coming soon.”

“What do you mean it’s not a frog? Look at it! It’s got clothes!”

“Does it even speak?”

“Hey,” Leafey said to the creature again, grabbing its hands. The creature whined. “Hey, it’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you. What is your name? Is your mom near?”

“Leafey…”

“C’mon, breathe deeply.”

Hoppediah sighed. Always her way, it seemed. And it looked like the fastest way to get them out of the forest was to get the creature to stop crying, so he went back to Bessie to grab the waterskin hanging from her saddle and brought it to the child.

“Here, kiddo. Drink this,” he said, uncorking the bag and offering it to it.

“See? Like this.” Leafey took a sip, giving a small demonstration.

“We’re not going to hurt you, kiddo.” He raised the waterskin to its lips, and it seemed to calm down enough to drink a little. He rubbed its back until it pulled its head back, done with drinking. “There ya go. Now, do you understand us? Can you tell us your name?”

The kid still panted and wheezed. It opened its mouth, and spoke for the first time.

“A… An…” It broke into tears again.

“An? Is that your name?” Leafey asked, but the kid didn’t seem to hear her.

“That’s a girl’s name, right?” Hoppediah asked his daughter.

“Think so,” she said. “Is your mom around, An?” 

An only continued to cry.

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere with this, kid,” Hoppediah told his daughter. 

“Think we’re better off heading back home?” she said.

“You did leave Thistle alone back there. I’m sure she’ll find her mom again. Eventually.”

“What? No way, old man!” She huffed. “We’re bringing her back with us.”

“Don’t I get a say in the matter?” He said. “We don’t even know what she is! What if we make her mom angry and she comes  toeat us all?”

“Look at her, Pops! She looks so thin! I don’t think she’s been eating. What if her mom is dead? We can’t just leave her to die!”

Hoppediah regarded the strange creature. She looked thin indeed, her dirty clothes hanging from her body like rags. And she trembled from head to toe, her entire frame trembling with sobs. Despite being almost as tall as him, she suddenly looked small, and something in his heart softened. He remembered Leafey as a tadpole, and how difficult it could be to get her to stop crying. Oh, the many sleepless nights he spent as a younger man trying to rock her to sleep. She’d always have him to comfort her, and suddenly, the idea of not being there for her crossed his mind, and his throat locked in place just from thinking of his adult daughter all alone and without her Pops to look out for her. He couldn’t tell the age of this creature, but from how she cried, she couldn’t be older than six. 

He sighed. 

“Damn you and your ways to melt this old man’s heart, child,” he said. Leafey smiled at that. “Let me go get Bessie.”

Slowly, they coaxed the child out of the cave and helped her onto Bessie’s saddle. She couldn’t seem to jump – perhaps she was some kind of newt? – so they had to pull her up with their tongues. Leafey held her while Hoppediah steered Bessie, and they made it out of the forest shortly before the first light of dawn tinted the sky grey in the early morning. It was only then that Hoppediah noticed the cries had died down. An had fallen asleep in Leafey's arms.

When they arrived at the farm, Thistle was outside, donning his hat and goggles and stumbling out of the house, jumping on one leg as he tried to put on both his trousers and his jacket at once.

“Leafey!” He cried when he saw them coming.

“Thistle, you big goof! What are you doing?”

“I… I woke up and you weren’t there! I was going out to find you!” He eyed the creature in her arms. “Where were you? What is that?”

Before Hoppediah could offer his own commentary, which he thought ought to be most welcome, Leafey slid off of Bessie’s saddle while holding the groggy child with difficulty. The little girl made a face at the rough awakening and rubbed at her eyes.

“No,” she whined weakly. “No…”

“Honey, this is An,” Leafey explained, holding her up on her feet. She looked half asleep again already. “You and I are gonna take care of her.”

He looked at the child with uncertainty. As one does.

Oh, Good Frog, if Leafey was trying to give him reasons to leave her and her boy to her own devices, she’d just handed him a thousand not to.

“I’m… not comfortable with this decision being thrust on me without notice,” Thistle said. “What even is she?”

“Some kinda bird, I tell you,” Hoppediah offered, climbing down from Bessie himself. “She has a beak in the middle of her face and everything.”

“Look, she was all alone and crying and… let me explain inside.” She shook An awake and took her hand. “We need to get some food in her first.”

They all went back inside, Hoppediah joining his daughter and son-in-law only after returning Bessie to the stables.

“Baby fever, I tell you, old girl,” he said. “She must have caught it all of a sudden, to get this attached.”

When he went back inside, he found An sitting on the couch, all wrapped up in a bundle of blankets and crying as Leafey tried to feed her some leftovers from the party. Some hard cricket snacks.

“Come on, stop crying,” she mumbled, more to herself than the kid. “These are super good! Why don’t you want them?”

“Uh, Leafey…” Thistle said.

“What do you even eat?”

“If she’s as young as she looks, she may need some softer food,” Hoppediah intervened, closing the door behind him. “Not those dang fried crickets. Does she even have teeth?”

Leafey leaned in to look closer.

“Yeah, but they’re very small.”

“She’s warm. Is she a mammal? Does she need milk?” Thistle asked.

Hoppediah made a face. Eugh. Mammalians and their milk and their gross way of birthing their young from their bodies instead of neatly laying eggs. 

“I don’t think spider silk-milk is the kind of milk she would need anyway,” he said. 

“Oh. Oh! I can make some mashed potatoes!” Thistle turned to the kitchen. “I’ll be right back!”

Hoppediah looked at the red, wet, puffy face of the little girl. Her cries were dying down, and she looked at them with wide eyes.

“I want my mommy,” she mumbled. Hoppediah felt something loosen in his chest. He smiled sadly at her.

“I know, kiddo,” he said. “We’ll… we’ll look for her.”

“Hey, An.” Leafy leaned forward and An leaned backward. “Can you tell us how old you are?”

An blinked up at her. Her eyes were big and round and brown. She looked down at her hand very thoughtfully, raising and lowering fingers, counting under her breath rather loudly, and then she shoved three raised fingers into Leafey’s face. Hoppediah noted that her hands had five digits instead of four, and he felt slightly unnerved by the fact.

“Three? You’re three years old?” Leafey asked, lowering An’s hand. An nodded vigorously.

“I’m three and… and Mar-Mar’s four and Sashy’s four and I’m–I’m gonna be four too!” She babbled excitedly.

“Huh, okay. An, sweetie, do you remember how you ended up in the forest?”

“Yeah, kiddo. Do you remember where your mom is? Do you remember where you come from?”

An’s face scrunched up for a moment, and Hoppediah thought she was going to cry again, but then her eyes lit up and she waved her hands generously above her head.

“Mommy says… says… we come from ‘across the sea’…” she made a gesture that to her must have had a very obvious meaning, but Hoppediah and Leafey were left narrowing their eyes in confusion. “From… from… we went to the beach.”

“The beach?”

“She said we could see…” she pointed ahead, and Hoppediah thought she must be imagining herself on the sandy coast, looking at the sea. She gestured hopelessly. “Across the sea…”

Hoppediah frowned. The child’s words clarified very little.

“Is your mom here?” He asked. “Or is she across the sea?”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

And then she started crying again, her face crumbling like a wilting flower. She sobbed loudly, panting and gasping uncontrollably, and Hoppediah saw his daughter’s eyes fill with desperation.

“It’s okay, honey!” She tried, rubbing An’s back. “Hey, don’t… don’t cry. Pops, could you go get some water?”

“On it,” he said, and he went to the kitchen, where he found Thistle boiling some potatoes. “How’s the mush going?”

“Just a few more minutes,” Thistle said, looking light-headed. He had deep bags under his eyes, and his nervous hand gripped the handle of the saucepan a bit too tight. He swayed softly from side to side. “Oh, Hop Pop, I never expected my wedding night to go like this.”

Hoppediah eyed him as he fetched a jug of water. He would never tell Leafey, much less Thistle himself, but he always thought his daughter had chosen someone quite faint-hearted for a husband. All he’d done was boil some potatoes and he already looked all dopey and feeble, like the world was just a bit too much for him. He made up for it with his big heart, he supposed.

An’s cries grew more jagged and high-pitched in the other room. He heard Leafey helplessly trying to hush her.

“It’s just a kid in need, son,” he told him. “Hardly the weirdest thing to’ve happened in this town.”

He omitted the elephant mantis in the room and went back to the living room, where he and Leafey helped An drink. Thistle came back shortly after with a porridge of mashed potatoes with soft-boiled slugs mixed in. As soon as he entered the room, his unassuming demeanor and the quiet, tired voice with which he asked An to eat seemed to help her calm down, which in turn calmed him down. He was smaller than Leafey, around Hoppedia’s height, but much rounder and less balanced on his feet. His slanted pupils gave him a perpetually droopy look. Maybe the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with all of them at once, because soon, An had finished the mush – rudely spitting out the slugs – and seemed to have become all drowsy and bleary-eyed. Thistle wiped her wet face with a soft clean towel, and Leafey eased her down onto the couch, placing a pillow under her head. 

“Oof! Leafey exclaimed, leaning back and putting her hands on her hips. “This has been an interesting…” she snapped her fingers. “Time?”

“Eight and a half in the morning,” Thistle said.

“A very interesting wedding morning. Jeez, anyone else feeling like passing out?”

“Well, someone’s gotta look out for the child,” Hoppediah said. “Who knows if an angry mother shows up looking for her.”

“I don’t know what she is, but she’s not an animal. Her mom will probably just thank us for not leaving her out there to get eaten.” She rubbed her face. “Honestly, what is she?”

“Her skin was warm,” Thistle noted. “And she has hair instead of feathers, so…”

“A mammal,” Hoppediah said. “An intelligent one at that.”

“From ‘across the sea…’.” Leafey held her chin. “I thought there was nothing beyond the sea…”

“Whatever is there, we can find out about it after a good… uh… morning’s sleep,” Hoppediah said. “You two go to bed. I’ll stay up here for a little longer.”

Thistle looked honestly thankful. Leafey gave him a concerned look.

“Aren’t you tired too, Pops? We can take turns. I can take the first shift! You and Thistle go have some sleep, I’ll wake you up in a few hours and…” she cut herself off abruptly when Hoppediah raised a hand.

“Child, you haven’t been married for twelve hours and you’ve already been all over the woods; you picked up the trash from your wedding party yourself for some Frog-forsaken reason I still don’t understand…”

“...I didn’t want you doing it alone when I know your knees hurt…”

“You didn’t even get the chance to share a bed as newlyweds,” he finished, gesturing at both her and Thistle. “Do your old man a favor and have some rest, kiddo. I’ll watch out for her.” He sat down on the couch next to An’s sleeping form, still all bundled up like a caterpillar in its cocoon. “Don’t make me scold you, child.”

Leafey yawned and leaned wearily against Thistle.

“You wake us up if you get too tired,” she told him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call you,” Hoppediah made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Thistle, be a dear please and make sure she actually catches some sleep.”

“You got it, Hop Pop,” he made a quick salute, and together with Leafey, they both climbed up the stairs and went into their bedroom.

Hoppediah chuckled and shook his head.

“That kid, I tell you,” he said to a sleeping An. “She can’t stay still for five seconds.” One of the blankets had fallen off, so he picked it back up and tucked An in properly. “There ya go, kiddo. Sleep tight.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “We’ll do our best to get you back home.”

She was a cute kid, now that he got over the strange feeling of having a mammal in their house. Her fluffy hair had leaves and twigs sticking out of it, and her big closed eyes looked very peaceful now that she was asleep. She clutched the blankets to her chest tightly. Despite being almost as tall as him, she suddenly looked very small.

His eyes drifted to the side of the couch, against which rested her small backpack. Leafey and Thistle must have left it there and forgotten about it. In order to pass the time, and to see if they could find any important information there, he grabbed it, opened it, and examined its contents.

Inside there was a small pencil case with crayons, miscellaneous objects such as a blanket, some clothes the size of the kid, an empty bottle of a strange soft and transparent material, and a beautiful carved box with three grey gems lodged in its lid, though it was surprisingly empty. There was also a notebook filled with scribbles and what seemed to be writing exercises (there were several pages filled with the letters A, B, and so on). A corner had, in a neater handwriting, the words “Mar-Mar was here’ followed by a smile. There were many drawings of what looked like Hoppediah like potatoes with arms. In the same neat handwriting as before, some were identified as “mom” and “dad” and “grandma”, as if “Mar-Mar” had helped An by writing for her. Maybe it was a teacher. All in all, these reminded Hoppediah of what Leafey would take to school back when she was little. He looked at the potatoes labeled “mom” and “dad” for a long time.

Leafey hadn’t had a mother, and Thistle had no family. Hoppediah himself didn’t know much of mothers. His had been lost during the Scatterfish Rebellion before he even hatched. His father had cared for him when he was a little egg just like he’d go on to care for Leafey. He did wish she’d had a mother. Not necessarily her mother, mind you, but a mother of some kind. Would have made his job a whole lot easier. And Leafey might have needed her, even if she insisted she needn’t more than her old Pops. 

He looked at An and felt his heart twist. He imagined what it would be like to lose Leafey and have no idea where she was, whether or not she was safe, warm, cared for, and Leafey was twenty-four, not three! The terror one must feel! Just the idea made him feel dizzy, and he was invaded by a big wave of sympathy for the child’s parents, who must be for sure terrified at the time, desperately looking for their daughter. He hoped they weren’t far, that they’d come knock on their door anytime now and be reunited with their kid again. 

For now, it was best that she rested. When she woke up, she’d have to eat and get a bath, and some clean clothes too. He’d make sure to return her to her family in a good state. 

“Don’t worry, kid,” he said, gently patting the blankets that covered her. “We’ll get you home soon enough.”

Chapter Text

An’s family did not show up for her the following day, nor the next, and neither did they show up the next week or month. Hoppediah grew more and more concerned with every day that passed, the mystery growing and growing until, one day, he realized Leafey and Thistle’s wedding anniversary would be following month, and it would mark a year since An found her way into their lives.

That first year had been characterized by an air of uncertainty as Hoppediah, Leafey and Thistle struggled with the strange nature of their situation. Understanding An’s needs had been their most urgent priority during the first times, finding the right foods for her and taking care of her when she got sick. They learned she slept for half the day, and during the time she spent awake, she either cried until she fell back asleep, or she followed Leafey around like a lost baby coastal killa-pillar, often clinging to her skirt or asking her for snacks, and Leafey seemed both honored and nervous to have been entrusted with the role of An’s primary caregiver, looking bewildered whenever she had her crying and wrapped around her leg, her own teary eyes begging Hoppediah for help, to which he’d often chuckle and say:

“Why, kiddo, defeated by a three-year-old?”

He’d then come to help An eat, or change, or bathe, or whatever Leafey needed help with. Despite having two legs and no tail, An was pretty much a tadpole, and a very small one at that. Half of what she’d said was pure unintelligible blabber, the other half consisting of screeches, squeals and what sounded like imitations of various animals she made while running in circles around the house, little feet paddling loudly from the kitchen to the bedrooms and all over the living room, banging pots and pans together and shrieking like an angry peafowl. Three days they’d enjoyed of silence, when she first arrived and was still scared of everything, and even then it brought them no pleasure since they spent the entire time hovering over her as she exploded in bouts of tears between long stretches of stupor, during which she stared wordlessly ahead and made no other sound than the occasional sniffle or whimper. With luck, they may hear her mumble a soft “I want my mom,” before falling into silence again. Sometime around the fourth day, she began to explore the house, and ask for food, and by the fifth day, they decided she needed a room of her own. 

She chose the basement herself, after the third or fourth time they found her bundled up next to the boiler, all warm and cozy in her little blanket. Leafey and Thistle lowered a mattress there, and An abandoned the couch to sleep in a proper bed for the first time in Frog knows how long. From then on, they had at least the warning of her clumsy footfalls climbing up the basement stairs before she loudly burst into the living room looking for Leafey every morning. 

They didn’t think much of it at first – after all, the woods were a dark and dangerous place, and anyone daring traverse them must do so carefully, sure – but the seasons crawled with indifference to An’s helplessness, and before he knew it, Sylvia had taken the train to Newtopia, and Hoppediah had stayed behind, with his daughter and son-in-law in the farm where he had hatched fifty-nine years ago. No news of An’s parents reached them then. They discussed it at night over tea: whether or not An may be an orphan, or worse, if she’d been abandoned. All reasonable possibilities, but nothing they could think of answered the question of her strange nature, and Hoppediah couldn’t shake the idea that, if he could figure out what An was, it would bring them one step closer to finding her family.

So, one month short of his daughter’s wedding anniversary and with a newfound sense of urgency, Hoppediah packed some food for himself over breakfast and said to his daughter:

“I’ll be heading to the archives today, to see if I can find anything on her,” he gestured at An with a spatula. She was sitting next to Leafey and drinking some chocopede milk from a mug with two hands. She accidentally spilled it all over herself and began to cry. 

“Hey, hey, shh,” Leafey desperately wiped at her face with a dish towel. An cried harder. “No no no no no, please don’t cry, it’s too early…”

Hoppediah sighed. 

“Think you and Thistle can handle her while I’m gone?”

Leafey looked up.

“What? Where are you going?”

“The archives, dear.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, yeah. I’ll have to… No, Thistle is at the stand today, maybe if I get her to take a nap…”

“I don’t wanna nap!” An cried.

“...Do you want me to stay  today?” Hoppediah suggested. “I have no problem waiting until Thistle is home.”

“No!” Leafey slammed her hands on the table. “I mean… Nope! No, no, you go, Pops, and make sure to bring me one of those romance novellas you know I like if you see any.” 

“Today is a… a… girl’s day!” An exclaimed, looking up at Leafey for approval.

“That’s right!” She finished wiping An’s mouth. “An and I here are gonna be having a little girl’s day, just the two of us.”

“No boys!”

“You heard her, Pops! No boys allowed!”

“Well, that isn’t very nice,” Hoppediah mumbled. “Leafey, are you sure you wouldn’t rather I wait for Thistle to come back?”

“No, no, no! Like I told you, An and I will be enjoying some quality girl time today.”

“Boys can’t see the bucket!” An exclaimed happily, kicking her feet. Hoppediah looked at her.

“What bucket?”

“What bucket?” Leafey parroted, a tight smile on her face. “There’s no bucket.”

“Yes there is!” An protested, frowning. 

“She’s so silly!” Leafey laughed, insistently pushing An off her chair. “Why don’t you go play with your dolls, An?”

“I’m not silly!” She cried.

“Did you hear that, An? I think Miss Spider is calling you from your room!”

“Her name’s not Miss Spider! It’s Princess Arach… Arachni…” She frowned, trying hard to remember the name

“Yes, yes, Princess Arachnia, now go go go! Before she gets sad!”

An’s face twisted in despair, and she turned on her heels and ran down to the basement crying for her doll, Princess Anarchnia. Hoppediah gave Leafey a severe look. She slumped on her chair.

“C’mon, don’t look at me like that, Pops. You pulled that trick on me all the time when I was her age!”

He looked to the side.

“Can’t say it’s not true,” he admitted. “Looks like you have it under control for the day.”

“Pfft. Like it’s the first time it’s just the two of us in the house. Trust me, this will be easy .”

He observed her carefully. It would be best to have a conversation with her when he came back, he thought. But the Archives were a long way from Wartwood, and he had to leave early if he wanted to return early, so after Leafey and An finished eating, he waved her goodbye and went to find Thistle in the stables.

“Good morning, son,” he said as he arrived. Thistle started and dropped the snail feed bag he was holding, spilling its contents all over the ground. Bessie chirped from inside the stable and tried to stretch her neck to eat some.

“Oh, hello Hop Pop,” he said. He had bags under his eyes. “Leafey kicked you out too?”

“Actually, I’m heading for the Archives today. I thought I’d drive you to town before that.” He gave Bessie an affectionate pat on her head. “What’s she up to today?” He asked. Thistle shrugged.

“I have no idea.”

They rode to town together. He helped Thistle arrange the stand, releasing poor Bessie of her heavy load of carrots, onions, pumpkins, garlic, potatoes, turnips, beets and bell peppers while chatting amicably with their fellow farmers. Sadie Croaker offered to bring Thistle home when the market closed. With a final wave to his son-in-law, Hoppediah hopped back onto Bessie’s saddle and set course for the Archives.

The Historic Wartwood Town Archives was a large underground library accessible only through the small stone entryway jutting out of the ground, with its metal doors and its long stairway leading down into the depths of good ol’ Mycroft Newtback’s life work. They said the newt scholar had dedicated his life to the study of Frog Valley’s history, collecting written records in his personal library, which had been passed down to the town upon his death, sometime around the year 680. During the past 220 years or so, fewer and fewer scholars had carried Newtback’s torch to care for the archive and continue his research. The last scholar in the town had died during the Horsefly Rebellion some 40 years ago, some cranky old frog called Norman Mudhop. Executed at Toad Tower at the age of 78. Or that was the intention, at least. Sadie Croaker tells him he died of a heart attack before they could even feed him to the flytrap. Ever since then, the archive had been all but abandoned. People still visited them, of course, but with no one to maintain them and Gordon Toadstool not being interested in appointing anyone with the task, the tall shelves quickly lost their shine and splendor. More than once did Hoppediah consider taking the job upon himself, but he had to admit that every time he visited he felt more lost than before he came. 

Once he’d made it there and after he gave Bessie some pets and scratches, he descended the stairs, intending to find out about An’s species. He hoped that might give him a clue as to where her family may be. He rummaged through the place from floor to ceiling, exploring every shelf in every wall, but he found little outside of some mammalian biology books that he thought might be helpful. In the middle of his search, he heard the door open, and heavy footfalls following down the stairs. He eyed his new companion carefully; he preferred to keep his research private for the time being. He’d lived in Wartwood for most of his life, and he knew the people’s first reaction to anything queer and new often came with torches and pitchforks. An didn’t need that. If they were lucky, they may be able to return her to her family before anyone even saw her.

The newcomer was a young green toad, donning the characteristic leathers of the Toad Tower jerkin, complete with a polished iron brooch depicting the Newtopian crest – a four-fingered webbed hand – holding his half-cape together. His skin looked soft and smooth for a tower toad. A young recruit, Hoppediah guessed, especially considering his age; he couldn’t be older than twenty. Still, he was not fooled by his lack of ruggedness: he had a sword by his hip.

He nodded dutifully when the toad saw him.

“Good evening, sir,” he said. “Can I offer you my assistance?”

Toads were above frogs in every sense of the word, and Tower toads liked to remind them of that often. Hoppediah didn’t have to like it – in fact, had he been a younger frog, he might have shamelessly sneered at the toad – but it was the way things had turned out to be, and he was too old to bring trouble upon himself and his family.

The young toad looked taken aback for a moment, and then he shook his head awkwardly.

“Uh… no, no, thank you, uh, sir,” he said, looking confused. “I’m just… uh, passing by.”

Hoppediah nodded, observing as the toad searched the tomes on the walls with delicate claws. He had a soft touch. A scribe, perhaps? He had a vague understanding that the Tower sported an army of clerks, analysts and researchers as well as soldiers. Regardless of trade, he’d much rather leave tower toads alone.

This particular toad had a different idea, it seemed. As he scouted the shelves, he kept coming closer and closer to Hoppediah, traversing the same shelves he’d looked into before. 

It was probably time he left. He gathered his things and took some biology books and bestiaries before making a beeline for the door. The toad seemed too enthused by the section on mammalian biology to notice his escape. He took Bessie, glanced at the toad’s hairy spider, which was waiting outside, and fed the snails some berries. The earlier he got back home, the better.

The trip was short, only three hours long, and when he made it to the farm, he found Thistle already home, desperately chasing An around the house with a towel. She was naked and covered in bubbles, and water dripped from her hair whenever she went.

“Hey! Hey! An, come back here!” He cried helplessly. He held the towel to his chest. “Please…” Seeing that Hoppediah had come back, he sighed. “Oh, thank Frog you’re here, Hop Pop. Please help me.”

An ran past him shaking her head wildly, sending a splash of bubbles across his face. He wiped it roughly.

“Thistle,” he said carefully. “Where is Leafey?”

His answer came quickly. Leafey dropped from a beam on the ceiling, holding a towel open with both her arms and feet, falling on top of An and trapping her as if she were a wild grubhub. 

“Got ya!” She exclaimed triumphantly. An squealed under the towel, as Thistle and Leafey worked together to wrap her up and keep her still. “There ya go! Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“She kicked me a lot,” Thistle whined.

“Kids do that sometimes,” Hoppediah said, placing the books he brought on the ground. “You get used to it eventually.”

“How long ‘til she stops?” Leafey asked, as she and An struggled with the towels. “Hey! Stop it!

Uh-oh. Bad idea, Hoppediah thought, as An’s eyes welled with tears at Leafey’s rough tone. Still, the look of utter desperation on Thistle’s face was golden as he realized what was about to happen. An began to sob loudly, and she threw herself on the ground.

“Oh, come on!” Leafey said.

“You’re bad!” An cried. “You’re bad! I don’t like baths!”

“What do you mean you don’t like baths!? You played with the bubbles for like, two hours!”

“You’re bad!” 

Hoppediah sighed. Thistle looked close to tears himself, and Leafey wasn’t faring much better, if the bags under her eyes and her messy auburn hair were any indication.

“Now, An, come on,” he said. “Comd’ere with Hop Pop. Thistle, can you go get some clothes for her?”

Thistle nodded tearfully, and went up the stairs. Leafey sighed. An kept crying.

“I swear if this thing does not shut up– ”

“You’re gonna have to work on your patience, kiddo,” he said. “What happened to your quality girl time?”

“C’mon, Pops. She throws tantrums all the time, hates all the food we make her, keeps me awake twenty-four-seven…”

“I think she keeps all of us awake.”

“Wakes me up in the middle of the night to ask for the food she didn’t want to eat three hours before – because she always comes to me , for some reason, not you, not Thistle, me – then cries and throws it to the ground because she hates our food , and I have to clean it up while comforting her and scolding her for throwing food around, which only makes the crying worse, so I have to let her throw out our food like it’s nothing so she might – might – let he catch some shut-eye at all.”

“She is a child, kiddo,” he said. Then he grimaced. “Don’t say these things in front of her.”

“She’s three, Pops. I doubt she understands a word of what we’re saying.” Leafey tightened the blankets around An as she tried to slip away, making her cry louder. “I said stop that .”

“Oh, she understands alright,” he said. “It might not look like it, but children understand what adults say about them. No wonder she’s so upset. She sees you tired and stressed all the time!”

“How am I supposed to feel?” She demanded. Thistle came down the stairs then, with what Hoppediah realized were Leafey’s clothes: a loose cotton nightgown that fit An perfectly. “Thank you, love. Pops, I can’t do this anymore. You’re asking me to take care of her and smile all the way through and never feel tired or angry or sick of hearing her cry all the time, like a perfect mom who just can do all of that.”

“You’re not her mother, Leafey,” Hoppediah reminded her.

“I just…” she glanced up at Thistle and leaned her head against his side. He rubbed her shoulder. “I had no idea this would be so hard.”

Hoppediah chuckled softly.

“Taking care of a child is the hardest job in the world,” he said. “No, nobody's perfect. But try at least not to snap at her like that.” He glanced at Thistle. He’d have a word with him later. “Try to remember, she’s very scared and confused right now. Honestly, I’d be more worried if she kept quiet!”

Leafey’s shoulders sagged. She looked down.

“You think she’s acting up because she misses her parents?” She asked.

“I think she’s acting up because she’s three,” he said. He noticed she’d calmed down considerably by now, too busy chewing on the towel. “Come here. Let me help you dress her.”

It took a group effort, but they managed to get the nightgown on An in a record time – only fifteen minutes of chasing her around and bribing her with chocopedes – the only bugs she liked –  to stay still, and then to keep the nightgown on. Thistle helped distract her with some doll he had made the day before. Hoppediah thought it was meant to be a caterpillar, but he wasn’t so sure.

An fell asleep around the time the sun began to set, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“Think I’m gonna go catch some shut-eye while I can,” Leafey said. “Thistle, you coming?”

Hoppediah put a hand on Thistle’s shoulder.

“Actually, he was going to help me at the stables.”

“I was?”

“Yes, son, now come with me.”

Leafey looked too tired to say anything. She just waved at them and climbed up the stairs. Meanwhile, while Hoppediah and Thistle fed Bessie, he decided to have a word with his son-in-law.

“So,” he began, tipping over the bucket of feed into Bessie’s manger. “How’s babysitting going?”

“Oh, Hop Pop, it’s awful,” Thistle groaned, filling the long water bucket. “She’s not a bad kid, I swear, but I miss sleeping through the entire night and not having to change soiled sheets every other morning.”

Hoppediah knew what he meant. An had a lot of trouble sleeping, often waking up in tears and screaming for Leafey, bursting into the room she shared with Thistle in the wee hours of the morning. She’d also had quite a few accidents in the time she’d stayed with them, which he guessed was normal for a child her age, especially one going through such a stressful time. It was often Leafey who changed her and Thistle who cleaned her bed, bringing a new mattress from upstairs if necessary. Hoppediah had been there before, and he’d done it all alone. 

He chuckled.

“I get it, son,” he said. He placed down the empty bucket and turned to face his companion. “I’m going to give ya a piece of advice, if you’ll hear an old man out.”

“Please,” he whimpered. “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.”

Hoppediah’s gaze hardened.

“That child seems to’ve chosen Leafey whenever she wants or needs something,” he pointed out. “And Leafey’s at the end of her rope here. You must have noticed.”

Thistle nodded wearily.

“We both are.”

“No, you’re not.” Hoppediah planted his shovel on the ground. “Listen to me, son. I know my daughter, and I know she’s not the most patient bee in the hive, but she’d never yelled at a kid before. I know An’s not easy to care for, but it’s the same for all children! If you’re planning to have kids one day, you better get ready for dealing with this and more!”

Thistle made a wiry sound, hugging his bucket to his chest, and for some reason, that only made Hoppediah feel offended.

“If I could do this on my own twenty years ago, you can get up to Leafey’s speed and not give her another child to worry about!”

“What? Another child? Me?” Thistle pointed at himself, eyes wide. “I’m doing all that I can! Leafey just…”

“Takes the lead? Won’t let you get a word in?”

“Yes!”

“Like I said, I know my daughter, and you know my daughter too. Stubborn as an elephant beetle, she is; you go along with everything she says too easily, boy, and that’s doing the opposite of helping her. Talk to her. Tell her to let you take on your part of the weight, and then stick to it . I’ll do the same.”

“It’s just so hard, Hop Pop.”

He laughed and shook his head.

“Too hard! Well, welcome to parenthood, son! It only gets harder from here on!”

He went back into the house and climbed the way up the stairs to his bedroom and then his warm, warm bed, which he intended to enjoy for as long as possible, until An inevitably woke them up crying again at around three in the morning. His last thoughts before falling asleep were of Thistle. He wondered if he’d been too hard on the poor boy. He had half a mind to apologize the next day and offer more constructive criticism, but sleep took him quickly, and by the time his alarm bug woke him up, one quick look at the clock on the wall confirmed it was five in the morning. His usual time. 

He got dressed and went for the stairs, but he stopped for a moment when he saw Leafey and Thistle’s door was creaked open. His daughter was sprawled on her bed, drooling like a baby and happily asleep. He smiled at the sight.

Downstairs, he made some toast and coffee for himself, and some tea for Thistle. It was easy to guess where he was.

He knocked on the basement door, and after hearing a soft ‘come in’ from below, he carefully opened it, balancing the plate and mugs on his other hand. 

The only light came from the boiler and from a small mushroom lantern resting on An’s bed. There, Thistle sat half-asleep, his head dropping closer and closer to the storybook on his lap. An had passed out against his side at some point, drooling just as much as Leafey.

“Well, look at that,” Hoppediah said. Thistle’s head shot up, and Hoppediah offered him the tea. “Did she wake you?”

“Around two in the morning,” Thistle yawned, accepting the tea and blowing on it. “Thought a story might make her feel better.”

“I didn’t hear her at all,” Hoppediah commented, impressed. “How are the sheets?”

“Huh? Oh, they’re clean.”

Hoppediah felt a new sense of tranquility hearing that. During the following days, he and Thistle took turns to comfort Anne at night, and even though she still chased after Leafey like a starved frog chasing a fly, she let herself be dragged away and distracted by Thistle’s stories more often than not. He had this old storybook from his childhood that he’d brought with him when he moved into the Plantar household, with tales of the Dark Prince and the Three Swamp Knights and the Ant Queen, and of will-o’-the-wisps, mossmen and mudmen, and blue moons and lantern men haunting travelers on the road. An, who could never seem to keep still for more than five minutes, became transfixed by his stories, and she would adopt the habit of waking Thistle up by hitting his belly with the book just so he’d read her one. It was Hoppediah who often scolded her for it, took her back to the basement, and told her she could have a story in the morning, which would usually have her crying her eyes out. Being told “no” was one of the many, many things that made An cry. A more comprehensive list included: wanting to get a bath without getting wet, finding out ‘Hop Pop’ wasn’t his given name, not being allowed to eat soap, realizing she’d gone too many days without crying, and the time she bit her arm to see if it hurt (it did). He didn’t remember Leafey crying so much as a tadpole, but then again, Leafey hadn’t gone through anything nearly as traumatic as An. Or maybe An simply had a very sensitive heart.

With Thistle stepping up, Hoppediah felt more comfortable withdrawing to his study to continue his research. Once he’d completed his share of the farm’s duties, and whenever taking care of An didn’t urgently require his presence, he’d sit down at his desk to read on mammalian biology, on geography, and anything that could tell him something about An’s origins. He learned that mammals were rare in all of the known world, their populations consisting mostly of bats, stoats, rats and moles, all of them unintelligent. None of them resembled An in appearance, either. And none of the large atlas books he’d found said anything about lands beyond the sea. In the afternoon he finished the last book, the fruitlessness of his efforts filled him with a great sense of desperation. What even was An? How could she have arrived at Amphibia at all? Why was such a small child all alone? No ships were going into open waters, as far as he knew. He considered returning to the archives one of these days, but what good would it be for? He didn’t think he’d find anything new. Perhaps Newtopia could have the answers - an ancient metropolis, ruled by the wisest of newts. The idea filled his heart with warmth. Oh, how he’d loved Newtopia in his youth. He’d tried his luck as an actor there, but with the Bogwater Wars, it was either conscription or running back home, and he refused to fight against his brethren. He rolled the idea in his head. He could make the trip. Catch the next train to Newtopia, let Leafey and Thistle care for An on their own. He could even visit Sylvia, to at least try to keep one foot on the threshold of her life, and then his thoughts drifted towards other subjects.

Sylvia. He regretted terribly the manner of her departure. The sadness in her eyes when he met her at the train station and told her he wasn’t coming had broken his heart. Leafey’s meddling, he’d said. Sylvia had nodded slowly, taking in his words. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t love to go with her, but as tempting as the idea was, he wouldn’t leave while Leafey needed him, and while An was with them. Not without a reason, and not permanently. No, if he wanted to visit Newtopia, he’d have to make some arrangements and only go if he thought he could come back with answers.

Until then, he had some other ideas. He tapped his pen on paper, leaning his head on his hand. Sadie Croaker had been all over the continent, and knew all sorts of people from her time as a spy for the Horseflies. The guild had been disbanded, as far as he knew, but perhaps she’d have a contact or two that could lend him a hand. They were shady people who got their hands on all sorts of shady knowledge. He’d pay her a visit soon.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” He called, but no one came. Instead, there was more uneven knocking, though they sounded less like knuckles on wood and more like someone was wildly slapping at it. He raised an eyebrow, got up to his feet, and opened the door for little An to rush in.

“Hop Pop!” She cried, wrapping her arms around him.

“Hey there, kiddo.” He patted her back and looked up at Leafey, who stood in the hallway with her arms crossed. “Kid’s a hugger,” he said.

“She’s been cuddly all day.” Leafey chuckled. “Been trying to teach her how to write, but she says we can’t write without you.”

“Oh? You can’t?”

“Nope! Apparently, you need to be there, because ‘you’re the one who’s always writing’. Maybe because she always sees you reading.”

It was true that, for the past few days, the only times he’d seen Anne had been when she burst into his study while he read. Leafey and Thistle had to drag her away with dolls and toys.

“I see,” he said. “Well, we better not keep her waiting.”

Leafey grinned. She dragged him downstairs by the hand, where scattered crayons and sheets of paper were messily spread all over the floor. Leafey kicked them around to make space for them, and they all sat down together, with Anne still attached to him but as soon as Leafey grabbed a crayon, An jumped out of Hoppediah’s arms and latched onto her extended arm.

“Hey! What’s gotten into you today?” Leafey asked laughing.

“No!” An whined simply. “No!”

“No what?”

“No! Hop Pop has to… has to… write!”

Leafey and Hoppediah laughed. Well, there was little more to discuss. Leafey handed him the crayon.

“Think you’ll have to do the honors, Pops.”

“It will be my pleasure,” he said, taking the crayon. He remembered how he’d taught Leafey when she was around An’s age, first by writing all the letters with her, then by teaching her to write her own name, reading it out loud.

He hesitated. This was the kind of thing parents did with their children. And her parents would probably want to be the ones teaching her. He wondered how he’d feel if his Leafey disappeared one day as a kid and came back already knowing how to read and write. Probably, he’d just be happy she was home, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were stealing something from her family. He considered sharing his thoughts with Leafey, to tell her they shouldn’t do this, or that they should at least wait, but then there was the question of how long . A year had gone by. Was An supposed to never learn to read and write until they knew for certain she’d be staying with them for good? How would they even know when they reached the turning point? And why was he thinking about An staying at all? Was it so easy to lose hope? Had he gotten so attached?

He looked at the little girl. She was almost as tall as he was, and still so painfully small, sitting cross-legged, holding onto Leafey’s arm and staring at him with eyes big and wide and so full of adoration, you’d think she’d known him her entire life. He suddenly felt very humbled. He did not know why An looked at him like that. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her, or that he never spent time with her – she often sought him out to play with dolls because he made the funny voices she liked, but Leafey and Thistle took on most of the work. While Hoppediah took care of the farm and the family’s stand most days, the other two fed her, bathed her, clothed her, played with her and read her bedtime stories. And still, she waited for Hoppediah to teach her how to read and write.

She reached for the crayon.

“I wanna eat!” She whined. Hoppediah and Leafey laughed.

“This ain’t for eating, kiddo,” he said. “This’ for drawing and writing.”

He drew a smiley face on a piece of paper, and An’s face lit up with wonder. She looked up at Hoppediah and happily slapped the paper.

“Happy!” She squealed.

“Mhm! And what is this?” He drew a sad face.

An frowned.

“It’s sad!” 

“That’s it, kid! Now, who wants to learn how to read and write?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t wanna!”

“Yes you do!” Leafy laughed, ruffling her hair. “C’mon Pops. How did you teach me?”

“Well, you start with the letters,” he said, and he wrote the alphabet, explaining each letter to An, from A to Z. She protested a bit, and it was hard to get her to pay attention without the addition of drawings – little suns and hearts and butterflies –  but by the time he was finished, he got an idea. “Here, kid. Do you wanna learn to write your name?”

“No!” She protested again, slapping the paper away. “I don’t wanna!”

Another round of laughter and some convincing later, they got a crayon in An’s hand. She now sat side by side with Hoppediah, so she could mimic his writing.

“See, you got an easy name to spell, kiddo. Easier than mine for sure!” He laughed. “C’mere. Let’s start with an ‘A’...”

An grumbled, “I hate writing,” but she followed Hoppediah’s example.

“Well, hate it or not, you should be thankful! Most frogs outside of Frog Valley never learned to read and write.”

“Here we go again!” Groaned Leafey.

“It all started with the Quagmire Rebellion of 874…”

“Don’t listen to him. See? Now write an ‘N’.”

Leafey helped An write an ‘N’ after the ‘A’, and Hoppediah thought that didn’t look right.

“How’s ‘An’ spelled, again?” He asked. Leafey grabbed her chin thoughtfully.

“I think it’s two ‘N’s and an ‘E’.”

And so Anne wrote her own name for the first time, a messy blue scribble, but it was her doing. It was true, what Hoppediah had said. It was a rare thing for a frog to read. That was often the gift of newt scholars, such as the already mentioned Mycroft Newtback, or even tax accountants and stewards from Toad Tower, but frogs were a farming people, and their job was counting, not reading, and much less writing. They counted seeds and moon cycles and their tax deductibles, but genealogical studies and news reading and book-keeping were, more often than not, beyond their skills.

The frogs of Frog Valley, however, were a rare breed, in that they owed to the rebellion of 848 and the well-educated soldiers of Pollianna the Great a tradition of keeping written records that the likes of Mycroft Newtback and, of course, Hoppediah's forefathers, kept alive merrily into the current age, at the turn of the millennium. By teaching An how to read and write, they were not only giving her a gift hard to find in frogs outside the valley, but they were essentially bringing her underneath the wing of Frog Valley, the valley of frog scribes and frog writers and readers and record keepers. He had to wonder if her people beyond-the-sea had the same tradition, or if they were doing something foreign to her.

She smiled proudly at Hoppediah and raised the paper in her hands.

“That’s me!” She giggled.

“That’s right, kiddo! It’s you!”

The door creaked open, and Thistle came in. He was coming back from his stable duties, the poor boy, and he looked dirty and exhausted, his clothes muddied and smelly and with loose strings of hay stuck to the fabric. Leafey laughed, rising to her feet.

“You look like you just got eaten and spat back out by Bessie.” She kissed his cheek.

“That’s probably more accurate than you think.” He looked at Anne and Hoppediah. “Hey, Hop Pop…”

“Why don’t you go take a bath, son?” He suggested. “You look tired.”

In reality, he didn’t want him to stink the entire house, but he wouldn’t say that to his face.

Leafey grabbed his hand.

“Let me run you a bath. Pops, think you can handle Anne on your own?”

“Oh, this will be easy. It’s not my first time teaching a child to read and write!”

Leafey laughed, and she disappeared with her husband upstairs. Meanwhile, Anne kept scribbling away on the paper.

“I wanna write Sprig!” She blurted out. Hoppediah looked at her.

“Where did you hear that name?” He asked.

“Leafey told me!” She replied simply. Hoppediah shrugged.

“Well, I guess I can teach you. Not a hard name to write either.” He taught her to spell it with her crayons, an S, a P, and an R, followed by an I and a G. Anne clapped happily. 

The kid had a cute smile, wide and toothy and bright, and when she laughed, she lit up the entire room. Sure, she made a mess of her food, and threw tantrums every day, and could hardly sleep through an entire night, but then she did something as simple as doodle some suns with smiley faces and proudly show them up to her Hop Pop, and something in his old heart quivered, and he felt thirty-four again. The age he’d been when he had Leafey.

It was a hard thing to think about. Anne had a family somewhere. Parents who were looking for her, who were scared, desperate. He didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to be without Leafey. Anne wasn’t theirs, and she couldn’t stay. She had to go back home. They were all getting attached, and it would only make it hurt more when her parents came knocking on their door one day ready to take her back to their home beyond the sea. Yet this dance had become familiar to these old bones of him: chasing her around to bathe her and dress her, cleaning up her mess, finding foods she liked, playing with her dolls, and now, teaching her her letters, teaching her to write her own name. Only one year, and he could no longer imagine a life without her.

Anne interrupts his thoughts with a cry.

“He’s… He’s… Leafey says the surprise is coming soon!” She exclaimed. 

Hoppediah observed her. Leafey’s nervousness a few days back, her insistence to kick everyone out of the house, and now talk of a surprise. Was it too early to jump to conclusions? Oh, but curiosity was killing him! And if Anne knew something he didn’t…

“Tell me, kiddo,” he said, smiling. “Did Leafey say anything about a bucket?”

Her eyes widened, and she looked at her surroundings, as if scared that Leafey may hear.

“You’re not in trouble,” he reassured her. “Now, can you tell me what Leafey told you?”

Anne hesitated, glancing at the basement door. She got up and gestured at Hoppediah to follow her.

She led him down the stairs, holding a finger to her lips in a conspiratorial manner. He turned on the mushroom light, and he saw Anne pointing at something in the corner of the room, tucked safely behind the boiler. It was a wooden bucket with a lid on it. He approached it with trepidation, his heart racing in his chest. He could already see what was inside before even looking. His hand twitched. He reached to grab the lid handle.

“Are you serious, Pops?”

He jerked back. Leafey stood at the top of the stairs with her arms crossed and a severe expression on her face. She looked at Anne.

“Anne, it was supposed to be a surprise!” She scolded. Anne’s eyes filled with tears.

“But Hop Pop told me to tell him!”

Leafey turned to him.

“Pops, did you bug her to tell you?”

“No!” He said. “...Yes? I only want the best for you, child, you know that. And if this was something I could help with, I…”

“Agh! I’m not fifteen, Pops! You can’t just go through my stuff!” She rubbed her face. Her entire frame wilted with exhaustion. “It doesn’t matter. You’re right. I… I can barely handle Anne so… “ She shrugged. “Open it.”

Hoppediah eyed the bucket cautiously. He pulled up the lead and, with Anne by his side, leaned in to observe its contents.

Inside, slept an egg. It wasn’t a soggy, greenish, pallid thing. No, it was translucent and thick and viscous, and it was the brightest pink Hoppediah had ever seen. He could see a pair of dark eyes, and the outline of a tail. Inside, the child twitched. It was dreaming. And it was alive.

He exhaled. His breath trembled. He could see the following years playing out before his eyes – he would work harder, maybe hire someone, so Leafey and Thistle could stay home. He’d buy another snail. He’d read this child stories every night before bed and tell him about their ancestors, and Anne…

“Thistle and I have been trying for months,” Leafey said. “They all… This is the first one to survive this long. I kept him here near the boiler so he… I thought the heat would help. I wanted to wait before telling you and Thistle, but I had to let Anne know so she could be careful…”

“It’s a boy?” He asked.

“Oh. Um. I think so? See, if you get really close you can kinda see…”

“My baby’s having a son!” He grabbed his daughter and spun her around. It made his back pop painfully, but he didn’t care. “I’m gonna be a grandfather!” He put her down. “What’s his name? How many months?”

“His name’s Sprig!” Anne chirped. She ran to join the hug. Leafey chuckled.

“Thistle and I always liked the name Sprig. Sprig if it’s a boy, Polly if it’s a girl…”

“Those are fine names, child. Sprig Plantar. A good name for the family shrub.” He held her face in his hands. “Look at you. All grown up. To think only a few years ago I could hold you in my arms…”

“Like, twenty years ago.”

“And now, you’re a woman grown. Starting your own family with the man you love…” Tears pricked at his eyes. “Forgive this old man. I just can’t believe my baby’s all grown now…”

Leafey blushed and looked away.

“Well, we’ll be having plenty of babies around soon,” she said. “He should hatch… I think next month?”

“Next month!? Why did you wait so long!?”

“I was nervous! I didn’t… I just…” She gestures helplessly at the egg. “We just need to get a crib, some toys…”

“Clothes, blankets, baby food… we need to secure the furniture so he won’t bump into anything, and there’s that old stair gate I removed when you turned five…”

They talked about it deep into the night. Anne fell asleep quickly, bored of the grown-up’s conversation about tadpole-safe cleaning supplies and soft moss corners for the edges of the furniture. She was leaning against the wall with Sprig’s bucked hugged to her side when they noticed her, and between Hoppediah and Leafey, it was a team effort to carry her to bed. And after securing the lid back on the bucket and kissing Anne goodnight, they climbed up the stairs and met Thistle in the living room, excited to break the news.

They didn’t know when Anne’s birthday was, but today marked one year since she arrived in their lives, so that was the day they chose to celebrate: the day of Leafey and Thistle’s wedding anniversary. 

It hadn’t been an easy year. Countless sleepless nights, endless crying, and a huge deal of running around the house with clothes and towels in their hands, but to them, Hoppediah knew, Anne had been a blessing. He saw it in the way Thistle liked to take her to the hill behind the farm to weave her tales of spirits and knights every summer night, resting their backs on the old torn-down wall and listening to the crickets sing in the candlelight. He saw it in how Leafey’s face filled with joy as Anne learned to write her and Thistle’s names, too. In her pride when she learned Anne had helped Hoppediah make her birthday crown because it meant the child had kindness in her. Most importantly, they were awed by the adoration with which she treated Sprig when he hatched. That night had been one of the most magical of Hoppediah’s life, only matched by the day Leafey was born. They all held him, regarding him with all the love in the world, and when Leafey knelt to help Anne hold him in her arms, she went quiet. She’d spent the entire night nervously kicking her feet, but now, she just watched the sleeping tadpole in awe, mouth ajar. She stroked his cheek with a soft hand, and whispered “Hi, Sprig. I love you.”

And Sprig loved her. Even though he was too small to do little more than cry, eat and sleep, he laughed whenever Anne visited him in his bucket-crib, when she made funny faces and told him about her day. He went quiet when she ‘read’ him from Thistle’s storybook, though she still couldn’t really read, and just limited herself to looking at the illustrations while reciting the tales from memory. Many times Hoppediah found her passed out next to his bucket with the book in her lap. From the moment he hatched, they became thick as thieves, and he knew they would love each other forever.

So it was only natural for Sprig to be present for Anne’s fourth birthday. He giggled and squirmed in Hoppediah’s arms as he, Leafey and Thistle held hands with Anne and sang her a birthday song. They put a mud crown on her head and told her to reflect on her life until that point, and as a demonstration, Hoppediah gave Sprig to his mother and sat by the window with her. Anne didn’t really know what ‘to reflect’ meant, but she followed his example, and then she gave him a big strong hug. She hugged all of them, and feeling both her and Sprig squished between their arms simply felt right . 

It was only a few years later, when Anne and Sprig came loudly stomping with their little feet down the hall to his study to drag him downstairs to Leafey – Leafey, who stood in the doorway with a nervous smile and a purple egg in her hands –  that his heart melted entirely, and he knew his family was complete.

Chapter Text

It was a muddy night in the middle of 991, one year after Anne’s arrival on their doorstep and three weeks since Sprig’s hatching, and the wheels of the family cart creaked and rattled as they sank into wet potholes and splashed all around the old dirt road. It was beginning to rain, and the little lantern in Hoppediah’s hand flickered with the last of its oil remnants. The way to Sadie Croaker's farm was long and perilous, making some two hours on a good day, but he’d been out there in the autumnal cold for at least three and he saw no end near. 

Bessie chirped nervously, and Hoppediah sighed. He could think of no words of comfort for his old friend. She was as tired as he was, if not more, but it was urgent that they made it to Sadie’s that night, if her letter was any good and it was true that she’d be leaving on the morrow. Sadie Croaker was like that. She was always on some sort of strange business through the valley no one knew or cared much about, but in Hoppediah’s case, this time it meant he was in a hurry.

Could have given me an earlier notice , he thought with a frown, and not make me come out under these conditions .

Part of it was his own doing. He wanted to make sure everyone was asleep when he left, and with how Sprig and Anne made each other cry as if they were two heads of the same snake, that had proven quite the challenge. But letters from Sadie Croaker were no croaking business, and it was best he took care of whatever she needed by himself.

When he finally spotted the red lantern by her door – some sort of old army code he didn’t recognize, perhaps – rain was pouring all over, and the wind wailed and pushed in all directions at once. Sadie Croaker had built her home under the risen roots of an old, grey dead tree, which on a normal day would have spider webs hanging carelessly from branch to branch, but it was all soaked bare under the rain. Her door was red, and the green tiles of the pediment over it, tucked into the corner of two high diverting roots, were mossy and had mushrooms growing from them. Those were the only distinguishable features of her house. If it weren’t for the wooden fences stretching into the distance behind, and the soft light of the lantern, you would have mistaken it for any old dead tree in the dark.

He left Bessie tucked under one of the safest, most sheltered nooks between the lowest roots, and she curled into her shell obediently. The old good girl knew he’d be there for a while.

He knocked on her door, and waited. Under the heavy splattering of the rain, he couldn’t hear her moving behind the door, or whether she was awake at all or not. He waited for a good five minutes, but then several locks clicked, and the red door opened, letting the warmth and the light from inside spill out from around Sadie Croaker’s dark silhouette.

“I see you’ve received my letter, Hoppediah,” she said. “Come in now, youngster, we don’t want you getting home too late.”

“I appreciate the consideration, Sadie,” he replied. “Though I do wish you’d given me a little more time to stage my escapade. One in the morning isn’t the most welcoming time to go around gallivanting through the valley, nor is six before noon a good time to go to bed.”

“I would have if I could, but I’m afraid everything is developing much quicker than we would all like. Come, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

She served them both something to drink, though at these hours Hoppediah favored some bugaccinos to get him through the night and the way home. Sitting on couches by a small table in front of the fire, they took a moment to exchange common pleasantries (how is your daughter? How is the farm?) before quickly moving on to more pressing matters.

“I called you in today because some concerning news have reached my ears,” she said. “The Mayor will call a town meeting tomorrow, and I won’t be there to speak, so I want you to be my spokesperson instead.”

“Why, that’s a great honor, Sadie,” Hoppediah said. “But if I may ask, what is so urgent that you have to leave tomorrow and on such short notice? What news are you talking about? And how do you know the Mayor is calling a meeting?”

“Well, the last one is easy.” She sipped some tea. “Herons were spotted near Swamp Shiro this past week.”

Hoppediah felt his throat go dry.

“Herons?”

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

“Oh, let those brutes at Toad Tower handle them. Gordon will just want to announce some security measures to aid his campaign. They seem to have made their nest too far from Wartwood to be of any problem to us. But I need you to say something for me in this meeting, with Gordon present and willing to hear you. This is something everyone needs to be aware of.”

“You’re making me nervous, Sadie,” Hoppediah chuckled. “What is this all about?”

“To get to the point, Lord Ragnar is dead.”

Hoppediah blinked. Oh, that sounded like amazing news!

“Lord Ragnar? The western toadlord?” He asked, unable to prevent a smile from creeping into his voice. “Why, that’s great to hear! I suppose that means the war in the west will be over soon, then.”

“Don’t get too excited.” Sadie Croaker scowled. “With Lord Ragnar dead, Lord Aldo is the last of the true toadlords left. Captain Grime and Captain Bufo respected him a great deal, but they are no Lords. They’ll probably give the Western Tower to some new Captain, and once old Aldo kicks the bucket, whatever’s left of the old Toad aristocracy will be gone for good.”

“I mean no offense, Sadie,” Hoppediah said. “But I’m not too interested in Toad Tower politics. How does this affect us?”

“It will affect us if a new war comes of it,” said Sadie Croaker. “Ragnar the Wretched is what they’re calling him now. He was killed by Yunan Longclaw, a young newt not older than your daughter. He and his tadpole. Word’s that they’ll be promoting her to general just for that,” she said. Hoppediah nodded, though as a frog, he didn’t know much about the Longclaws or any of the great Newt Houses. “They’re growing restless, Hoppediah. The toads are not happy, and when toads are unhappy, frogs suffer.”

“Well.” He shrugged. “I don’t see what we’re supposed to do about it. We pay our taxes and we follow the law, and if you want me to show up tomorrow to say to the Mayor’s face that we should arm a militia to defend ourselves from Captain Grime and his toads, I’m sorry to say, but you got the wrong frog for the job. Perhaps Sylvia Sundew would have been happier to accept, were she here and not in Newtopia right now.” Before Sadie Croaker had the chance to argue, he continued. “Wherever are you leaving for tomorrow, anyway?”

Sadie Croaker drank from her cup of tea.

“Frosch,” she said. “I have an inkling as to who may be elected as the new Western Captain, and if we can have any say in the matter, we may be able to avoid a new full-blown war from breaking out.”

“Frosch!” Hoppediah spluttered. The Barony of Frosch! “You’re going west right now? And so close to the Western Tower too! Sadie, I know you’ve done great things with the Horseflies, but don’t you think it’s time to sit back and enjoy our twilight years in peace? We have a good thing here! Wartwood is nice and barely anyone has come bothering us in the past forty years!”

“My years are far from their twilight, Hoppediah,” she declared. “I still intend to keep this valley safe as I did in my youth in every way I know how. I have some friends in Frosch. I know Captain Grime’s sister is a fierce and honor-bound soldier who fought for the King against Lord Ragnar’s rebellion. She could be a good candidate.”

Hoppediah shook his head.

“There is no talking you out of this, I see,” he said. “Same old Sadie I’ve always known.”

“Two wars could not change me, Hoppediah,” she said. “Now, there’s one more thing I need to tell you, and I’m telling you this because someone needs to know if I don’t make it back, but I have a friend in Toad Tower, a contact that lets me know they are looking for something in the valley. They already searched Lily Paddington, and it’s likely they’ll search the other towns too.”

“What is it?”

“A creature. Two creatures, to be precise. They’re said to be just babies, but they could be as dangerous as any heron if they feel threatened. They’re supposed to have dark hair and dry, warm, brown skin, like hairless mammals.”

Hoppediah’s pulse picked up. 

“Well, they do sound rather odd,” he supplied innocently.

“Odd indeed! Because they’re smart, too, as smart as any tadpole their age! Five years old, they say they are, and still a menace to everyone around them. The Tower wants them, and they’ll stop at nothing to find them. So know that, Hoppediah, if they come looking while I’m not here, and please be a dear and tell me everything you learn about the matter if that comes to be the case.”

He wrung his hands together.

“What do you do with all this information?” He asked.

She leaned back on her chair. Her pet spider, a small, hairy thing, curled up on her lap, and she stroked it lovingly.

“All I care about is this valley and its frogs,” she said. “I don’t care for strange creatures or toad politics beyond that. Remember it, Hoppediah.”

“Because I’ve been meaning to come to you with some matters for the past few months, but time has been slipping past me like a little eeling and I haven’t had the chance.”

Sadie Croaker leaned forward.

“Why, Hoppediah? Is there anything you wanted to tell me?”

“You know I trust your discretion more than that of any other frog in the valley, and I’m aware you’ve been all over the world in your youth and met all kinds of people. I figured that if anyone knew the answer to my questions, it would be you.”

“Get to the point, Hoppediah, please.”

“Right. So, uh…” He fixed his bowtie. It suddenly felt very tight, and he felt very shaky. He looked around the room. “I think my daughter and I found one of these creatures you described. She was in the forest, crying for her parents and starved half to death - Frog knows how long she was out there! So we took her in, and she’s been living with us ever since.”

He gathered the courage to look at Sadie’s face. Her eyes were hard and firm, and she was no longer petting her spider.

“How long ago was this, Hoppediah?”

“Uh…” He swallowed. “Well, it was a year just a few weeks ago! How curious, right?” He chuckled. “Just as we’re having this conversation.”

“A year!” Sadie Croaker exclaimed. “For one year you’ve been keeping this menace around like it’s nothing.”

“I assure you, Anne is completely harmless!” 

“Oh, so the creature has a name,” Sadie said. Hoppediah was regretting his decision already.

“She’s a lovely kid! Sure, she cries a lot and wakes us all up in the middle of the night, but you should see her with my grandson! Only three weeks old and he adores her already! They’re like two peas in a pod!”

“She may seem harmless now, but forgive me for trusting my contacts above your grandfatherly anecdotes,” she said. “While she’s here, she’s a danger to us all. You must get rid of her, Hoppediah. Send her to Newtopia, hand her over to the King before the toads find her, and we will be all the safer for it.”

“What? I can’t do that! Anne is like a granddaughter to me! And we still need to find her parents.”

“Parents?”

“That’s why I came to you in the first place! She claims her family came from somewhere beyond the sea. Sadie, if anyone should know, it’s you: is there anything beyond the sea?”

She set her cup on the table before her.

“There’s nothing beyond the sea, Hoppediah,” she said. “How old is your Anne?”

“Well, she turned four just some days ago.”

“Do yourself a favor, please, and trust your judgment before you trust a tadpole’s,” she said. “I know you’re attached to her, but it’s not safe to keep her. The longer she’s around, the more dangerous it will be for all of us.”

“Sadie, I think you’re exaggerating a little.” He said. “Anne would never hurt a fly! She even cried for weeks when she found out where sweet fly cakes came from! She didn’t make the connection and thought  they came from the earth like farm produce, and now she won’t eat them anymore.”

“Hoppediah…”

“Whatever did this other…?” He fiddled with his hands. “What did this other mammal-kid even do to warrant a measure like this?”

“Well, I wasn't there,” Sadie said. “But my contacts tell me almost half of Toad Tower was destroyed, and I know by your face that you’ll try to tell me it could have been a misunderstanding, so let me beat you to it and tell you that it was not, Hoppediah: what I’m told is that her eyes and hair turned the color of coral-salt fire, and many toads suffered burns from being near her when it happened. My old friend even says the fact that no one died was a blessing from their Saint Barrel, just so you’ll know how destructive it was. There was a huge explosion and a fire, and parts of the tower collapsed over the burning wooden seams like they were made of paper. And that is what toads had to deal with, and they barely made it out alive. Toads, who have thick, hard skin and bodies like tree trunks, not to mention their training. Whatever will we frogs do when your Anne sets the entire town ablaze on a whim? These creatures are dangerous Hoppediah. I’m sure your Anne is a sweet kid, but I am older than you and I have seen good frogs die because their kindness towards small kids got the better of them, and I’ll remind you that this town has many small kids: the Flours have just had their first egg hatched, as well as the Sundews. Are you willing to sacrifice other people’s children for your own, my friend?”

Hoppediah gulped and squirmed in his seat, feeling bile burning in the mouth of his stomach. He clenched and unclenched his fists on the armrest of Sadie’s big couch. A rigid finger pulled at his bowtie unthinkingly.

“Please don’t say those things, Sadie,” she said. “My Anne has never shown any signs of being like that, and she’s only staying with us until we find her family.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Sadie Croaker grumbled, settling deeper and more comfortably into her couch, with an air of sobriety. “If you think you’ll have better chances than the King of Newtopia and all of his newt scientists together.”

“It’s not that I mean to keep her to ourselves,” he continued. “I just don’t think that would be a good environment for a child. Especially not one like her. She’s very sensitive, you see, and she’s grown very attached to my daughter. I think she plans to adopt her, in fact!”

“Hoppediah…”

“And… and it’s not like I agree with the idea, of course. Anne already has parents of her own. But if we separate them now…”

“Hoppediah. It is late. I’ll be leaving before the sun rises, and you should head back home before your family notices you are gone.”

His words died in his mouth. His tongue felt dry and numb.

“But…”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Hoppediah. It’s clear you’re fond of the kid, and I’m not heartless, though I’m sure you think I am from the things I’m telling you.”

“Hard not to, Sadie. Sorry, but it’s the truth: you’re asking me to send away a tadpole all alone to be studied by scientists away from everyone she knows after she already lost her family.” An idea sparked in his mind. “Should you not be more concerned with letting Newtopia know of the kid at Toad Tower? Whatever happened to her?”

“If you’re trying to distract me, you’re doing a very bad job,” she said. “But I’ll tell you regardless. The kid is being held captive. Captain Grime will probably plan to use her, which will be bad for everyone. Getting her to Newtopia is important as well, and my contact and I are working on it. Until then!” She pointed a finger at Hoppediah. “ You will have to deal with your kid. When tomorrow comes, please warn the town of the toads’ search, and think deeply about the role your Anne will play in the war to come. There will come a moment where you’ll have to choose, and I hope you choose wisely, Hoppediah.” She sipped from her tea, which had long gone cold. “Or else your Anne might doom us all.”

By the time Sadie Croaker had left the next morning, Hoppediah was recovering from the two hours of sleep he’d gotten last night with a nice big cup of bugaccinos, which made him feel only marginally more awake. In reality, it made him feel like his heart would explode at any moment, but there was farm work to do and produce to sell, not to mention town meetings to attend, so by the late afternoon, before he’d even gotten a distant chance to catch a short nap, Leafey had her hands on Bessie’s reins and she was driving the whole family, minus Anne, to the town hall to hear what Gordon Toadstool had to say. 

To say Hoppediah was nervous was an understatement. While the townsfolk whispered and fretted over a heron nest many leagues away, Hoppediah wrung his hands together in his lap and tried to keep his left eye from twitching, guts churning every time he remembered what Sadie Croaker had asked of him. Toads. Yes, toads. Searching the valley for two warm-blooded creatures – mammalian tadpoles, no less – and they should all be on the lookout for it, and send the creatures to Newtopia if found before the toads could latch their claws on them as they did with the first one. Only, one of said creatures lived in his basement. Yes. Had lived in his basement for over a year now. She called him Hop Pop, the name he’d called his own grandfather. Next to him, Leafey and Thistle mumbled amongst themselves, with Sprig squirming sleepily in his father’s arms. Thistle leaned down to look at something under his seat and hissed something. As whispers around them grew into heated arguments and Gordon Toadstool hammered his rough toad fist against the top of the table to draw everyone’s attention, Hoppediah felt more and more like his bowtie was choking him, until he was sure he’d stopped breathing. Then, Leafey stood on her chair and said:

“So what if they come near? We can fight some herons better than any toad army.” The hall went silent around them. “Toads are slow and bestial. They only know brute force. A toad would rather swing an axe straight over a heron’s beak than leap away. No offense, Stumpy.”

“None taken,” said Stumpy, the local toad, who was quite different from most tower toads. He was missing both his hands and one of his legs, and rumor had it that he’d cut them off himself with the help of his family to avoid being drafted to a tower. 

“What I propose is that we arm a militia to defend ourselves in case the herons come,” Leafey continued, slamming a fist into her open hand. “We can make spears, we have axes, we can arm an angry mob better than any other town in the valley!”

“She has a point,” someone in the crowd said, followed by various mumbles of agreement.

Thistle looked under his seat again and said something. Hoppediah’s blood pressure suddenly dropped when he saw what was under there: Anne’s fluffy brown mammalian hair fell over her face as she shily peaked out from behind Thistle’s seat like a baby weasel – a ferocious predator –, and she tugged at Thistle’s waistcoat and complained that she was bored.

“Just a little bit more, okay?” He said pitifully, now rocking a crying Sprig back and forth. Sprig crying usually resulted in Anne crying too, so Hoppediah shared the sentiment when he saw panic growing in Thistle’s eyes,

“What has the Mayor ever done for us anyway?” Leafey continued from above.

“Yeah!”

“Frog damn you, Toadstool!”

“I hope the herons come for him first!”

“Enough” Gordon Toadstool roared. To all of this his son, Frodrick Toadstool, a smooth-skinned toad with a healthy shine to his complexion, seemed bored at best, yawning from the front row examining the rich rings on his fingers and whispering to his small friend Toadie, with whom he had a very queer relationship with. Next to him, Duckweed protested against his fellow townies, arguing that they could never hope to arm a militia worth its name, to which Felicia Sundew, her own tadpole in arms, countered that they were more than prepared to defend their town and twice as willing as any tower toad. Her husband nodded in accordance. The recently-married Flours cheered in agreement. Wally, the town kook, produced an accordion and began to sing about heron hunters. Stumpy clanked his prosthetics with a newfound enthusiasm. Many followed their example.

“Yes!” Leafey guffawed. “Yes, my good people of Wartwood! Rise!”

“Don’t you think this is a bit too much?” Hoppediah asked Thistle, but he seemed too distracted sighing and making lovey eyes at his wife. He snapped himself back to reality and looked at Hoppediah.

“Uh…” he said, and then his eyes widened and he began to look around. Hoppediah’s heart jumped into his throat.

“Where is she?” He hissed.

“I…”

“Did you bring her with us? What did you bring her for at all if you were going to lose her!”

“I didn’t mean to lose her! But I thought… Leafey and I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me, boy!?” The town hall was so full of chairs you couldn’t fit a needle between all of them, and frogs were now all standing, some on top of their seats, and it was impossible to walk or get around anywhere at all. “She must have crawled off somewhere!”

“I’ll… uh…”

“Don’t even bother, son.”

Sprig began to wail louder.

“Duckweed, how many people live here?” Leafey asked, pointing at the green newt.

“Uh… according to the last census… five thousand between the town and the surrounding fields.”

“Felicia, can you teach them to fight?”

“I can give you an army in no time!”

“Tuti, can we forge enough weapons for everyone?”

“I don’t see why not!”

“This is preposterous!” Gordon Toadstool insisted, which earned him an uproar of disagreement among the crowd. “Toad Tower is here for a reason!”

“Yeah, to stink up the whole valley!”

“Who said that!?”

As the arguing continued and Leafey seemed to grow high on her delusion of grandeur, Hoppediah dropped to his knees and began to crawl around in search of Anne. Every now and then he’d catch a glimpse of her brown hair amongst the many colorful legs of the frogs around them, only to lose her again immediately after. His kneecaps creaked with every movement he made, and his lower back hurt like it’d been stung by a lava hornet, but he kept on regardless, mumbling to himself about the argument he’d have with Leafey and Thistle once they were all back home.

“We have everything we need right here, right now!” Leafey said. “If we didn’t have the tower to slow us down, Frog Valley could be glorious!”

A sudden shriek broke through the crowd. Yelps, gasps and screams followed, growing from an epicenter around the back of the place, and Hoppediah closed his eyes in resignation, knowing he’d been too late.

He rose to his feet, and Leafey leaped right over him from chair to chair towards the back of the town hall. Thistle followed her nervously. Behind them, Gordon Toadstool slammed his fist repeatedly over the desk.

“Order!” He yelled. “Everyone go back to their seats!”

Then, Hoppediah heard it: the loud cries of a small child. His Anne.

When he made it to where she was, Leafey and Thistle were shielding her from the frightened crowd. Accusatory fingers pointed at her, the people of Wartwood gathered around them and obscenely crawled on top of each other to get a better view, like starving larvae, or slippery swamp eels circling their prey. While Gordon Toadstool demanded to know what was going on from the other end of the room, the citizens of Wartwood whispered amongst each other in fear and morbid fascination, never averting their eyes from little Anne.

“Back off!” Leafey demanded, while Thistle hushed at a crying Anne and hugged her tightly. “Back off, now!”

“What is that?” Someone asked. “It ain't a frog at all, is it?”

Leafey gave the crowd an offended look, searching for whoever had said that.

“This, ladies and gentlephibians, is Anne,” she announced proudly, chin high and stroking Anne's fluffy hair. Anne nuzzled into Thistle's shoulder, hopelessly trying to hide from view. “She's been staying with us for…” she snapped her fingers and looked at Thistle. “How long has she been staying with us again?”

“A year and three weeks, honey,” he murmured.

“A year and three weeks,” Leafey repeated for the public. “My Pops and I found her all alone in the woods, and we've been looking for her parents ever since.” She glared at the crowd. “She's just a tadpole, but she understands everything you say, so be nice.”

“It's a monster!” Someone – Wally, Hoppediah noted – cried. “We must burn it at the stake!”

“I second that!” Someone said.

“I third it!”

“Hold on, everyone!” Hoppediah intervened, breaking through the crowd and standing in front of his daughter. “We're not burning anyone at the stake tonight!”

“I'll have the final say on that!” Gordon Toadstool growled, his voice loud and rugged. “Leafey, Thistle, Hoppediah, you claim the child is yours?”

“Well, she's not ours exactly, she has a family somewhere, but…”

“Then it's settled. You three are responsible for her now and shall be burned at the stake with her for any offense she commits. Now, can we resume the meeting?”

“Did he say stake?” Thistle mumbled nervously.

Gordon Toadstool pointed a claw at them.

“Not with you folks! I want you out of my hall by the time I count to ten. And take that horrid thing out of my sight, for Frog's sake.”

Hoppediah's shoulders sagged. He still had so much to say! He still hadn't even figured out how to tell them what Sadie Croaker had shared with him.

“But…!”

“You're on seven, Hoppediah.”

“Okay-thank-you-bye!” Leafey chirped, grabbing her husband and her father by the back of their ties and swiftly pulling them all out of the town hall. It was overcast outside, and the faintest cold droplets of autumn rain fell on them.

“Oof! Dodged a nice one, gang!” Leafey said, crossing her arms and facing the town hall with satisfaction. She took Anne's hand and began to drag her to where Bessie was waiting for them. “Now, let's go home before this one gets sick.”

“Hold on a moment!” Hoppediah stood in front of her and shoved a finger into her chest. “Leafey Plantar, what were you thinking bringing Anne here!? Now everyone knows about her!”

“Calm down, Pops. People were going to find out sooner or later,” she said, stepping past him. “Besides, everything turned out fine! And it's not like we could leave her all alone at home either. She's just a tadpole!”

“Everything did not turn out fine! Now everyone knows she's here, and it's only a matter of time until the toads come for her!” He exclaimed. Behind him, he heard Sprig crying, and Thistle trying to soothe him. He exhaled, and his gaze softened. “There's something I was planning to tell you, kid.”

As they traveled back home on Bessie's cart, he gave them a summarized version of his encounter with Sadie Croaker the previous night. He was the one driving, and every time he turned around, he saw the concern grow on Leafey and Thistle's faces.

“There's more of them?” Leafey asked. “Pops, this is the first lead we got! Do you think we could find her parents?”

“Hold on, child,” he warned her. “There's no use making this any more public than it already is. Next time the tax collectors come, they'll be asking about her, and people will speak. I was planning to keep her hidden for a bit longer, but after all of this, we have few options other than sending her to Newtopia as soon as possible.”

“So she can be used against more rebel toads? I don't think so,” Leafey said, hugging Anne closer. She had fallen asleep sometime during the trip. “Pops, we need to hide her.”

He gave her a look.

“Well, that's what I was trying to do.”

“No, you weren't. You didn't have a plan. You didn't even know what to tell everyone!”

“I didn't have the time to think of something!”

“I think we should all hide her,” Leafey said. “All of Wartwood. Together.”

“Honey,” Thistle said. “It's not that I don't think you're convincing, but…”

“But?”

“They wanted to burn her at the stake less than an hour ago, and all of us with her. How do you propose we convince people to keep it low?”

“Mh. Good question.”

“I have an idea,” Hoppediah blurted out, and he roughly pulled at Bessie's reins and said “Bessie, things are getting messy!” 

Bessie turned sharply and slid swiftly down the path they'd just come from, back towards the town hall. Hoppediah yelled:

“The newts might not have her, but that don't mean the toads will either!”

They rushed back to the town hall, slammed the doors open and cried: 

“We Plantars have something to say!”

All eyes suddenly turned towards them, and Hoppediah felt acutely aware of how silent everyone was. Even Gordon Toadstool was watching them curiously. 

Hoppediah gulped and glanced at Anne, who was leaning against Thistle's shoulder, tired and quietly complaining about being woken up. He continued:

“This child ain't no ordinary child.”

“Yeah, we can tell,” someone mumbled.

“Oh, hush you. We don't know what species she is, or where she comes from, or where her family is, but she's been a granddaughter to me for the past year, she's practically a Plantar already!”

“Get to the point, Hoppediah,” Gordon Toadstool said.

“The reason we've been keeping her secret is because Toad Tower is looking for her,” he said. “This child possesses a great power, one that makes her hair and eyes turn into bright, colorful fire and fill her with the strength of a thousand suns!”

Whispers scattered through the crowd, quickly growing into panicked ruffling and chattering.

“Pops.” Leafey placed a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Let me finish, child,” he said, and he faced the crowd.

“If what you say is true, Hoppediah,” said Gordon Toadstool, “then we shall get rid of her at once, before she becomes a danger to us all!”

“No!” Cried Hoppediah. “We must keep her, all of us, as the town's secret, because Toad Tower has one just like her, just as strong and powerful.” He took Anne's hand and pulled her forward. She eyed him with eyes full of tears. The nervous chattering resumed.

“I wanna go home, Hop Pop,” she said. 

“If Toad Tower has one just like her, who's to say they won't use her against us?” He said. “Anne could be our protector! Just her presence could keep the other one at bay!”

“Preposterous!” Gordon Toadstool said. “We haven't reason to worry about Toad Tower. Us toads are in charge of keeping the frogs of the valley safe and sound, right where they are. Get rid of the child, Hoppediah, or become responsible for her ‘colorful fire’ when it burns down our homes and our crops.”

The crowd now looked between Gordon Toadstool and Hoppediah, carefully considering. Hoppediah tightened his grip on Anne's hand. She was already an inch taller than him, but she looked so small.

“Well, I don't like Toad Tower,” someone said. Felicia Sundew, Hoppediah noted.

“Yeah, I don't trust toads. No offense, Stumpy.”

“None taken”.

“I second Felicia!” said Mr. Flour.

“If Hoppediah thinks he can raise her, I trust him,” said Loggle.

“I never doubted him!” Added Wally.

Soon, the crowd had gathered all around them again, and Leafey pulled Anne from Hoppediah's hand just in time before they raised him in the air in celebration. Oh. He could get used to that.

“She'll protect us from Toad Tower!”

“And the hiberday killer!”

“And the herons!”

“She'll be the town protector!”

“Three hurrays for Hoppediah Plantar! Hop-hop, hurray!”

“Pops! This is is crazy!” He heard Leafey hiss, but it was too loud to answer her. He gave her an apologetic look and a shrug, but she just glared at him before dragging Anne with one hand and Thistle with the other outside. 

The celebrations persisted despite Gordon Toadstool's complaints and fist-slamming, and when it was over, Hoppediah went to join his daughter outside. He found her sitting on Bessie's saddle, arms crossed and a stern look on her face, with Thistle and the kids back in the cart. Sprig had long drifted off in his arms, and was telling Anne stories to help her sleep too.

“Pops, what the heck was that?” She asked when she saw him. “‘Town Protector’? Is this serious? You want her to fight toads and herons? I thought the point of not sending her to Newtopia was so that they wouldn't try to use her power!” She glanced back at the snoring, drooling mammalian tadpole. “If she has any power at all, that is.”

“Now, don't fret, child,” Hoppediah said, hopping onto Bessie's shell behind his daughter. “I didn't mean everything I said. I just said what was necessary to get the people on our side.”

“So, you lied to them.”

“Just a little white lie! Until we find her parents.” He patted the side of Bessie's shell. “Let's get going.”

Leafey groaned, but snapped the reins anyway, and Bessie began to slide away from the town and down the long path towards the farm.

“I don't like this, Pops,” she said. “What happens when she's gone, with everyone who's expecting to rely on her? What happens to our family reputation? What about Sprig? What if people don't want her to leave?”

Hoppediah gave his daughter a sad look.

“Sometimes I doubt we'll ever find her family, I'm afraid to admit.”

Leafey's shoulders sagged.

“I… I know. Me too. But…”

“This is the best way to keep her safe, kiddo. Trust me on that,” he insisted. “You do trust your old Pops, right?”

Leafey didn't turn to see him. Didn't make a movement to acknowledge his statement, didn't reply for a long time and when she did she barely made a sound.

“I do, I guess.”

Chapter Text

The years crept by like millipedes, and soon Anne was seven years old, and her Hop Pop said it was time she learned about the Killer of Hiberday.

“Every year, when the temperature drops below the Frog Line for three consecutive days, we frogs freeze all over until temperatures rise back again.”

“I know that, Hop Pop,” Anne said, kicking her legs. He's gathered her around the fire, as if to tell scary Blue Moon stories, but all he told her were things she already knew. She looked down and pouted. “It's very lonely”

Unlike the frogs around her, Anne didn't freeze during hiberday. She would spend the day coloring books or drawing or playing puzzle games in her room while her family remained frozen upstairs. Or she'd try to sleep through the day, feeling too sad to do anything.

“But that is not all!” Hop Pop exclaimed, sitting up on his couch and raising a finger. “Every year, someone in the town goes missing, and nobody knows why. But this year, we got a little special someone who could help us catch whoever's been stealing our friends away! Could you guess who I'm talking about?”

Anne's chest swelled with pride. She pointed at herself with a shy smile.

“Me?”

“That's correct!” Hop Pop said, and Anne grinned. “Now, you're not to engage with them, we just need you to keep watch from a window so we can catch them later. Think you can do it?”

Anne stood from her chair with a fist on her chest.

“Hop Pop, you can count on me!”

“That's my girl!” He smiled. “In two days, everyone will gather in the town square so you can watch over us more easily when we freeze. We'll set you up in the town hall with snacks and puzzle games so you won't get bored, and we'll put up a lot of bells on strings to alert you if something's coming. How does that sound like?”

To Anne, it sounded marvelous. No more boring old basement for her! She'd be in the middle of the action! As long as she didn't get devoured by a giant mantis or cicada, this should be the best hiberday in the history of hiberdays!

“Hop Pop, I won't disappoint you,” she promised. He gave her a proud look.

“I knew I could count on you, Anne,” he said. “Oh! By the way, could you look after Polly too and make sure she stays warm?”

‘Polly’ was the name of Leafey and Thistle's egg. They didn't know for sure if it would be a girl, but they seemed so convinced of it that they resolved to call it Polly regardless. It was small now. It fit on the palm of Anne's hand. Not two weeks old and not yet hatched, but Anne already loved her. She would protect her with her life.

“You can count on me for that too!” She said.

So, during the two following days, they set up the bell traps and Anne's little hideout in the town hall for hiberday. The new mayor, Gordon's son Frodrick, had a ‘much more hands-off approach to mayoring’ (in Hop Pop's words) than the previous one, but that one had been eaten by a wild slug on his way to reprimand some farmers a year back, so the new one was probably doing something right by letting the townsfolk handle things themselves. 

So, when the time came, entire families bundled together around the statue of that one town hero Anne could never remember the name of, and as snow began to fall on the third day of winter, they froze in place, hugging each other with a troubled look in their eyes, knowing it may be the last time they saw each other.

Leafey and Sprig were the last to leave. They came by to see Anne, make sure the fireplace on the other end of the room had enough firewood, and that she had her favorite blanket and her favorite coloring book and enough crayon-bugs to keep herself entertained, and Leafey held her cheeks and kissed her on the forehead. She even gave her some snacks to eat, fried cricket legs! Some of her favorites. Then, she opened the bucket where Polly slept, kissed the slimy little egg, and saw Sprig jump into Anne’s arms for one last hug.

“I’ll miss you!” Cried the little tadpole. “Can’t you freeze with us this year? Please please please?”

Anne laughed and squeezed him tight, his little tadpole body squirming in her grasp.

“I’m sorry, Sprig. I wish I could.”

“If you ever feel scared, thaw me,” Leafey said. She’d given her indications on how to do that on previous hiberdays – she had to bring her to the nearest fire or submerge her in hot water – but Hop Pop always said to not listen to her and let her have her rest. “Or… or if you feel lonely or sad or hungry or if you want to talk…”

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay,” Anne said. She put Sprig down and puffed out her chest, fists on her hips. “I’m Town protector today!”

“Town protectors still need to eat,” Leafey insisted, reaching up to pinch her cheek. “And they need to play and draw and get all the hugs and kisses too!” She squeezed both her cheeks painfully. “Gah! Why did we even set you up to do this? You’re coming back home right now!”

“Leafey, I can’t!” Anne laughed. “I promised to catch the Killer of Hiberday today! Remember? Everyone’s counting on me!”

That’s what she’d said to Hop Pop, anyway. That he could count on her. Plus, Polly needed someone to look after her. And everyone in town was already frozen or in the process of freezing, only feeling safe knowing Anne was there to catch the killer. There would be no more ‘possible goodbyes’ from now on, no sir! Not if Anne had a say on it! Was she lazy sometimes? Maybe! Did she get distracted easily? Could be! but she made a promise and she was determined to fulfill it!

Leafey gave her one last worried look.

“Okay. Just… promise you’ll thaw me if you need me.”

Anne rolled her eyes.

“Okay, okay. I will.”

She wouldn’t. Hop Pop scolded her that one time she thawed Sprig to play, because it made him all groggy and funny, and he said it was bad for him, and she didn’t want to do that to Leafey too.

But that seemed to make Leafey feel a little bit better. She smiled, hugged Anne one last time, and took Sprig in her arms before taking him back out with the rest of the family.

“Goodbye, Anne!” He yelled, waving at her right before the door closed, and Anne was left all alone.

“Goodbye, Sprig,” she said. She looked at them through the window.

The Plantars all sat together, Thistle and Leafey hugging Sprig between them, and Hop Pop on Leafey’s side, with a hand on her back. Anne stayed inside the town hall.

She glanced at Polly’s bucket next to her. At least she wouldn’t be alone this hiberday!

She got down to work, looking through some binoculars Hop Pop had given her, observing everyone and counting their heads. She didn’t know why she had to count their heads specifically, but Hop Pop had called it ‘head-counting’, so she did just that. Soon, she got bored. Lookout duty was boring. Sprig had said it would be exciting, and that he wished he could be there with her, but his mother insisted on the importance of hibernation for frogs like themselves (another reason not to thaw her). Eggs didn’t hibernate, and freezing could be bad for them, so they had to stay warm, but grown pollywogs like Sprig who would be getting their legs anytime now had to freeze. Right now, Anne really wished Sprig was there with her. 

She quickly turned her attention to her coloring books and her toys, playing with small wooden spiders and mantises that Thistle had carved for her, and then coloring some animals here and there. When she got bored of that, she decided to color the walls of the town hall instead, which were white and freshly painted and looked like the perfect canvases. She drew herself with Sprig and Leafey and Hop Pop and Thistle, and even little Polly, who looked like nothing more than a circle on the wall. She drew herself small, just a little bit bigger than Sprig, because she often felt embarrassed when Leafey had to ask her to bend over when she wanted to hug her or kiss her head. Anne didn’t like feeling big and clumsy. She didn’t like being bigger than all the kids in town, and even bigger than most adults, save for maybe Stumpy and a few others. 

She promptly got bored of drawing, too, so she went to check on Polly, whose bucket rested near the fire, and began talking to her about anything and everything: she told her one of the tales Thistle would read to her at night, and about how happy Sprig was with his new hat, which he’d gotten from his mom, and how his dad had promised to teach him how to play his old fiddle when he got older. She complained about Hop Pop scolding the other day for throwing out the food when he wasn’t looking, which was completely unjustified, because Hop Pop couldn’t cook to save his life and the food had been gross. But Polly was deadly silent, so she got bored of talking to her, too. 

After what felt like hours and hours and hours, when the night fell and nothing came save a light snowfall, she decided to go see everyone, do a ‘head-counting’ from up close. She’d learned to read and write last year, and Hop Pop had given her a list of names for her to tick off as she checked that everyone was still there. Old Mrs. Croaker, who always looked at her weird, was there, and Loggle was there, and the Sundews were there, and Wally was there, and the mayor and his weird friend were there… Everyone was right where she’d last seen them, frozen in place and in each other’s arms. And Leafey and Hop Pop and Thistle and Sprig were sitting together by the fountain. They were cold. Very cold. Colder than usual. Their skin was naturally always cold and slimy, but now it was hard and freezing and it burned, so Anne wrapped herself up in her blanket, held up her lantern and padded across the crunchy snow and squeezed herself between Leafey and Thistle. There wasn’t much room, and it made her shiver from head to toe, but it settled the seed of anxiety in her chest, and she wished with all her heart that the day was over soon, and they could all gather around the fire together to listen to Thistle stories again.

She was beginning to fall asleep when she heard the bells.

She snapped her head around with her heart in her throat, feeling herself be invaded by fear, as she saw a glimpse of white fur and heard the crunching of snow under light clawed paws all around her. Her heart beat so quickly it hurt. She heard something scratching at ice, and she raised her lantern to see a giant, red-eyed weasel towering over her, holding Mrs. Croaker’s frozen body between its jaws.

Anne screamed. The shriek that wrecked through her throat spooked the animal so badly that it twisted its long body around in the blink of an eye and disappeared into the night, leaving a trail of pawprints in the snow behind.

Anne heaved, looking around for help and realizing with terror that she was completely alone. Everyone was frozen still, and Mrs. Croaker was gone and the weasel was so big and terrifying, and her eyes filled with tears at once. She cried until she couldn’t see anything at all, because she was meant to be the town protector, as her Hop Pop sometimes said, to make sure they caught the killer, and now Mrs. Croaker was gone and it was all her fault for not paying attention.

She wiped her tears from her eyes. Yes, it was her fault, but maybe she could still find Mrs. Croaker before the weasel ate her. She guessed frozen frog wouldn’t be too tasty a meal, it would surely wait for her to thaw! And that wouldn’t happen until the next morning, so maybe if she was quick, she could bring her back home in time!

Arming herself with courage, she held her lantern high and gave the Plantars one last sad look before delving deep into the forest, following the weasel’s pawprints.

It wasn’t easy, because not enough snow had gathered under the tops of the trees, and the pawprints were beginning to look less and less defined the deeper Anne went, but then she’d see a broken branch, or scratches on the trunks of trees, and she’d follow that path, hoping she was right and that the weasel had left that trail of destruction behind, and that none of the hibernating insects around woke up to eat her before she found Mrs. Croaker.

Then, came the heron.

It was a shadow. A shriek. Something big and gut-wrenching sweeping above her, completely ignorant to her small, pitiful presence. It flew low, just over the tops of the trees, casting its shade in the dim red moonlight that bled through the cold clouds. Anne’s heart felt like a hard hand was squeezing it, and she froze in place. She couldn’t move at all. The bird passed by in just a few seconds. Long and dragged-out seconds during which Anne thought, for the first time, that she may actually die out there. 

Then a hand covered her mouth and pulled her back into the darkness of a hollow tree. She struggled and fought back, kicking and elbowing her assailant with all her might, but their grip only grew harder, muffling her screams behind a slimy hand until the bird was far away, carrying its shadow to the other end of the woods.

“Shh! Shh, calm down,” hissed her kidnapper. “I’m here to help you.”

Anne stopped. Her eyes widened. She saw a long purple tail swishing around them. The newt let her go, and she gasped and pushed him back quite roughly.

“Why did you grab me like that?” She demanded.

“I couldn’t have you hurt,” he said simply. He dusted off his coat, which was dark and furry and looked very, very warm, and pulled back his hood to reveal a bald head and a pair of bushy grey eyebrows. His eyes were wide and yellow, and they studied Anne with fascination and excitement.

“She said you’d be here,” he said, approaching her slowly. “She said you’d… you must be the girl, Sasha.”

“My name is Anne,” Anne said. She didn’t know any Sasha.

The newt blinked.

“Ah, my apologies. I should have figured. Sasha is said to have pink skin and yellow hair.” He began to circle around her, and her heart sped up. “It really is you. After all this time.”

“Who are you?” Anne demanded.

“Oh! Where are my manners? The name’s Emile Gloomswim, Retainer – and soon Oathman – of the great House Dawnblood.” He bowed, “and your protector, at your service. Lady Anne, we are to leave at once. I have a mutu crab waiting for us not far from here. If we leave tonight, we might be able to reach Newtopia in a fortnight. Do you have the box with you right now? Can we get it tonight?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Anne declared. “My Hop Pop always says outsiders are for trouble and trouble only!”

“Ah, I figured you’d said that,” Emile Gloomswim said, continuing to slowly approach her, walking in circles around her. “But don’t you miss your family? Your friends? Your friends are waiting for you in Newtopia.”

Anne gave him a confused look.

“I don’t have any friends from Newtopia. All of my friends are here.”

“What about your parents? Don’t you want to see your parents?”

“My…” Anne inhaled sharply. She knew where tadpoles came from. She knew she didn’t hatch from an egg, and that she didn’t come from a cabbage. She knew she had parents that were big and tall and that didn’t freeze, much like her. She knew they were out there, somewhere, because that’s what her Hop Pop always told her, but she couldn’t remember a thing about them. She was very little when he and Leafey found her. She knew the story. She knew they were still looking for them.

“Yes, your parents!” Emile Gloomswim insisted. He licked his lips. “Do you have the box?”

“The box?” Anne asked.

“The box with the three gems. Do you have it?”

Oh! That box! Her Hop Pop’s box! She knew it. She often saw Hop Pop observe it in his study, carefully rotating it in his hands. 

“That’s my Hop Pop’s box!” She exclaimed. 

“You have it?” Emile Gloomswim hissed. “Bring it. Bring the box, Lady Anne. Let’s go find it and leave.”

“No!” Anne insisted. “I’m not leaving with you! And I still need to find Mrs. Croaker! She was taken by a giant weasel, I need to bring her back before she thaws and it eats her!”

Emile Gloomswim’s eyes narrowed. His tail swished from side to side, roughly brushing against the snow.

“That’s quite alright, lady Anne,” he said, bowing stiffly. “Let me give you something, then.” He fished around in the pocket of his coat, and handed a small object to her. It looked a lot like an egg, though she’d never seen an egg quite like this one: it was dark, and it had intricate red carvings, the biggest of which looked a lot like an hourglass. She gasped. Oh, she’d heard stories about these!

“A ticket to the Bizarre Bazaar?” She asked.

“Yes, lady Anne. The Bizarre Bazaar is where members of my order have gathered to discuss secret House Dawnblood business for a long time. This traveling market will pass by in three days. Break it once you have the box, and it will lead you there. I will be waiting for you. Bring the box, and don’t tell anyone. Let me take you back to your parents.”

“But…”

She heard the weasel screech again, not too far now.

“Mrs. Croaker!” she cried, and pushed past Emile Gloomswim without a second thought, jumping out of the hollow tree and running through the forest towards the source of the shriek. She soon found herself in the mouth of a cave, where Mrs. Croaker’s frozen body rested squarely in the middle, while the weasel seemed busy with something else, deep into a corner.

Okay. She had to get Mrs. Croaker out of there without alerting the weasel. She remembered the snacks Leafey had given her, and she found some leftovers in her pocket.

“Hey, weasel!” She called, and the weasel looked up. “Check this out!”

She waved around the scraps of food – fried cricket legs –  and as the weasel sniffed the air, its pupils dilated, and it came barreling down to where Anne was. At the last second, she threw the cricket legs as far as possible into the woods, and the weasel followed them. 

She didn’t waste the chance: Anne immediately dove in to grab Mrs. Croaker, who was lighter than she expected, and she was about to take her when she heard a soft chirping come from the depths of the cave. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she went in to see, just to find three adorable, naked little baby weasels curled up in a nest. She looked back at their mother, who was digging for scattered cricket legs in the snow outside, and she realized that if she took Mrs. Croaker, she and her babies would starve. And, well, Anne had always loved animals. She adored Bessie, and liked hearing Hop Pop read her story to her. Even if it meant going hungry for the rest of the night, Anne couldn’t help herself. She left the rest of her cricket legs in the nest for the babies to eat, and before mama weasel could return, she took Mrs. Croaker and left for Wartwood.

It wasn’t the easiest job, because despite Mrs. Croaker not being that heavy, the town was still nearly an hour away, and Anne was only seven years old. Bigger and stronger than any frog her age, but still seven nonetheless. By the time she made it back, the sun was coming up, and everyone – including Mrs. Croaker –  was beginning to thaw.

“It was a weasel!” Anne cried, rushing into Leafey’s cool arms. “Leafey, I did it! I scared it away and brought Mrs. Croaker back!”

“Holy Frog, you did,” she said with a grave voice, stroking Anne’s hair.

“You did it, Anne!” Hop Pop suddenly came crashing into her, enveloping her in a tight hug. “Oh, I knew you could do it. My little girl, all grown up!”

“Indeed she did it,” Mrs. Croaker said, eyeing her curiously. “Why, I’m impressed, Hoppediah. Seems like your Anne is a hero today!”

Whispers spread quickly as people realized no one had died, and soon Anne found herself raised up in the air by a happy crowd, celebrating the end of the Hiberday Killer.

“Now that we know what it is, we can go and kill it before next winter!” Hop Pop said.

“What? No!” Anne scrambled down from the arms of a dozen or so frogs, which were now disappointed. “You can’t kill her! She has babies!”

“We’ll kill the babies too!” Someone said.

“No!” Anne insisted. “Please, don’t kill her! I’ll make sure to feed her every hiberday so she won’t have to take anyone else ever again! I promise!”

Leafey stroked her hair again.

“Now, Anne, I know you have a big heart,” she said, “but this was supposed to be a one-time thing. I can’t have you running off into the woods feeding wild animals! What if something happened to you?”

“You know, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” someone broke in. Frodrick Toadstool it was. “Easier and cheaper than arming up a mob.” He pointed a claw at Anne. “Aight, kid, you do you. Everyone else, show’s over! I’m going back home for a much-needed rest. This has been a very stressful night.”

“But you didn’t do anything!” Someone cried.

“Who said that? Hey! Who said that!?”

A discussion broke out, but by then the Plantars were going back to where Bessie waited for them, curled up in her shell and snoring softly. Thistle retrieved Polly from the town hall while Leafey saddled up the snail, and Hop Pop checked the state of the cart. On the way back home, Anne curled safely into Leafey’s arms, finally letting the exhaustion of the night catch up to her. As she drifted off, her last thoughts were of the purple newt, and of her Hop Pop’s box.

A few days went by, and all Anne could think about were the newt and the box. She thought about it every time she passed by Hop Pop’s study and she spied through the half-closed door how he admired the box in silence, reading his books as he did so. She thought about it late at night, lying on her bed, hands over her stomach, staring at the moist dirt ceiling. She thought about it as she studied the egg, which she still kept secret, knowing the day the bazaar came was coming closer and closer. Even when she played with Sprig to catch fireflies in the evening she couldn’t forget about it. Most importantly, she thought about it every morning, when Leafey helped her tie a ribbon around her dress, and she proudly admired her work in front of the mirror, so Anne could see both their reflections at the same time: she was a head taller than Leafey, and all of her clothes had to be made bigger. She’d once heard Duckweed mutter that her dresses looked ‘toadish’, which had made her feel very gross and uncomfortable. Leafey was small and her dresses and work clothes had all been passed down from some aunt or cousin, without the need for any fixes. She was taller than Hop Pop and Thistle, but she was a frog nonetheless. A normal frog. Coral-colored skin and auburn hair and all. Anne’s skin, hair and eyes were all brown, not at all like the Plantars’, and she was naturally always warm and dry as if she had a furnace inside of her. That’s why she didn’t freeze. That’s why she wasn’t a Plantar, too. Because she wasn’t a frog. 

But if she wasn't a frog, she had to be something . She knew she wasn’t a toad or a newt, because her skin wasn’t hard and warty, and she didn't have a snout or tail. In fact, her Hop Pop said she wasn’t an amphibian at all, but some kind of strange mammal. Like a weasel. And she didn’t remember it, but he’d also said she came from beyond the sea, even though, in school, they taught her there was nothing beyond the sea. Apparently, that was what she’d told them when they first found her. Oh, how she wished she could remember anything, anything at all of those early years! How she wished she could remember what she was, or where she came from, or who her parents were. It drove her insane with curiosity, anxiety, and a weird and unexplainable homesickness. She would get up in the middle of the night to stare at herself in her bedroom mirror, and look closer and closer until she was pressing her little face bump against the glass –  because she had a little bump in the middle of her face, too – and point out every single thing that made her so unfroglike , until she drove herself crazy just thinking about that newt’s promise to take her meet her parents, and all he asked for in return was her Hop Pop’s boring old box. 

So, on the third day after hiberday, she made a decision that she would regret for the rest of her life, and she stole the box from Hop Pop’s study.

It was a spy’s work – she had to sneak around at night, when everyone was too busy sleeping and snoring, and walk past everyone’s rooms in the hall to slither inside Hop Pop’s bedroom and fish for the key to his study in his waistcoat’s pocket, which she found draped carelessly over a chair in the corner. Then came the second part of her plan: open the door to his study, find the music box and get out of the house and into the Bizarre Bazaar, all in complete silence.

Opening the door was easy. She just had to do it very, very slowly, so it wouldn’t creak or moan. Finding the box was a bit trickier, but after almost an hour of scouring every single drawer and chest, she found it trapped behind Hop Pop’s desk, between the back of it and the wall and protected by a soft opaque cloth. She decided to bring it like that, safely hidden that way. She took a moment to admire it before parting: its delicate gold carvings depicting a swamp and a frog were absolutely marvelous, but its three grey stones lacked the distinctive shine she would have expected from such intricately polished gems. They looked dull and milky, but she found that one of them was slightly warm when she touched it. Not the other two, though. Only the one on the left. She wrapped it in its protective cloth again and put it inside a bag, which she slung over her shoulder. Then, she tiptoed out of Hop Pop’s study, down the stairs and outside the house, once again opening and closing the door as slowly and silently as possible.

The air outside was really cold, and there were still hard, crunchy patches of wet and muddy snow melting all around. Even out there, Anne felt the need to tiptoe until she was past Bessie’s stables and nearing the edge of the woods. Only then, she placed the lantern she’d brought along on the ground and took the egg from the pouch attached to the belt of her dress and cracked it like she would when cooking, but instead of a gross wet yolk, what fell from it looked more like some kind of small insect, a two-legged, furry little blue creature with only one eye that ran in circles around her.

“Hey, little friend!” Anne said. “Are you here to take me to the bizarre Bazaar?”

The little critter blinked up at her, and then ran off into the woods.

“Hey! Wait for me!” She cried, and she followed it as fast as her legs could carry her. How she wished to be a frog then, to jump from tree to tree and over every stump and stone so she could keep up with her little guide! Instead, her dumb, big, toadish legs seemed to stumble over every root and rock as she ran, and she had to look very carefully and guess where her lantern couldn’t light the way where to jump and duck and move through the forest without branches slapping her in the face or dropping a bunch of sharp hardened snow over her.

Then the little guy jumped into a hole between a bunch of tangled up roots, and disappeared.

“No!” Anne exclaimed. She closed one eye and looked into the hole, but it was completely dark. “Please, come back!”

She felt her eyes well up with tears of frustration, but she wiped at them with her arm. Leafey always said she was a big, brave girl who could do anything, so maybe she could find her little friend again. She raised her lantern and looked around, but then a sharp gust of wind blew over her, and it pushed open the lantern’s lid and snuffed out its light.

“No!” Anne said. “No, no, no, no, no! Please, no!” 

Her heart began to race, and she felt truly scared for the first time in the night. Oh, this had been a great mistake! What did she have to go around looking for strange newts and bazaars for? Why didn’t she disobey this weird Emile Gloomswim and tell Leafey about his mutu crab and his proposal to take her to Newtopia? Oh, if only Leafey was here, or Hop Pop, or Thistle, or even Sprig to keep her company! Then she wouldn’t be so alone and scared and completely lost in the woods.

Then, she saw a little light. A golden glowing mushroom suddenly came to life not far from her. Then another, and then another just a little bit further away, and Anne realized they were tracing a path. She left her lantern behind, tightened her grip around the closed mouth of her bag, and followed the lights. More and more continued to light up, and then suddenly, their glow crept up the mushrooms growing on the bark of a mossy tree, all up the two halves of a circle, until reaching the top, and the hourglass symbol above came alight.

Anne exhaled shakily. She’d made it.

The glowing mushrooms circled what looked like an entrance, a curtain of vines and moss and lichens that easily gave way when Anne pushed inside, and what she found there was the most magical view she’d ever seen: rows and rows of disorganized stalls spread as far as her view could go, with strings of warm lanterns hanging from canopy to canopy, and all sorts of frogs, toads and newts went about their night eating and talking and bartering with each other among the narrow corridors between the stands. There were fortune tellers and elixir sellers, and traders of all sorts of exotic objects from around the wide continent: caecilian-skin liquors, ancient olm artifacts, relics from the old Toad Kings that were supposedly thousands of years old… but there were also delicious millipede-larvae dumplings, non-alcoholic spider-egg drinks for the little ones, northern ash-grown barnacle meat and all sorts of snake poisons, scorpio-lio furs, cave squid ink, moth wing amulets, glass eyes and tattoo parlors, poker tables, racing circuits and dozens of different carnival games that included knife-throwing, crossbow-spinning and liquor-drinking. All in all, the place was fascinating, and Anne couldn’t wait to see all that it had to offer.

But she was a woman on a mission, and she had to find Emile Gloomswim.

She began to walk the narrow corridors of the bazaar, asking the vendors and buyers about Emile, but no one seemed to know anything about him. She kept an eye out for bushy grey eyebrows and a purple tail, but whenever she thought she’d caught a glimpse of him, he would vanish in the crowd before she could reach him. One time she almost got close to him, but a hard hand yanked her back all of a sudden, and the newt quickly disappeared from sight.

“And what do you think you’re doing here, young lady?” 

It was… Hop Pop?

“Hop Pop? What are you doing here?” Anne asked.

“Oh, don’t you think for a moment you’re in the position to be asking that question right now! I’m the one who should be asking that! Now, explain to me, what made you think you had the right to go around ruffling through my things and take them to this Frog-forsaken place!? This ain’t no place for a child!”

Anne had never seen him this angry. She wanted to cry. She didn’t like being yelled at. She wiped her tears before they fell. She opened her mouth to explain herself, to tell him about Emile Gloomswim and the box and the mutu crab and everything that had been plaguing her mind for the past three days, but then she saw a hint of a purple tail again, and without thinking, she pushed past Hop Pop, ignoring his yelling and scolding, and dodged vendors and passerby's alike as she darted towards Emile Gloomswim. 

And then she promptly crashed into someone.

She wore a dark cloak, and she only had one arm. Her long tail sported a glove at the end, and it held what looked like a mosquito larvae sandwich.

She turned around and raised an eyebrow at Anne.

“Mmh. And aren’t you too young to be so far from home at these hours, little one?” She asked. A parrotfly settled on her shoulder.

“Far from home! Far from home!” It chirped.

Anne backed away nervously, holding tightly onto her bag. She looked back, and saw Hop Pop trying to trudge through the busy crowd, but he was having some trouble. Glancing around, she saw no glimpse of Emile Gloomswim.

“Please! I need help!” Anne cried. “I need to find Emile Gloomswim but my Hop Pop won’t let me!”

“Mmh. Seems like you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament,” said the tall newt, stroking her chin with her tail. “And you’re quite the wonder yourself. I’ve never seen anything like you, and I’ve been all over the world.”

“Have you been beyond the sea?”

“There is nothing beyond the sea,” she said. “Tell you something, child, I’ll give you anything you want, if you bring me one of three objects from here before the night ends.”

“Only one?”

“At least one. Firstly, I need you to bring me a Stonygulch wax mantis head. Secondly, you can bring me the elixir of eternal wakefulness. Thirdly, you can bring me the mechanical butterfly made by Mycroft Newtback seven decades ago. These are all rewards for games here, you see. If you can do this, I will keep your grandfather at bay and help you find your Emile Gloomswim.”

“Only one out of three?” Anne repeated. “Pfft! That’s easy!”

“Then don’t waste any time, child! Meet me at my stall when you’re done, I’ll be there when I finish my lunch.”

And so Anne left off to find the games that promised as rewards a Stonygulch wax mantis head, an elixir of eternal wakefulness, and the mechanical butterfly of Mycroft Newtback. She found the wax mantis head first, hanging at the top of a high striker, alongside a series of other rewards such as bags of snails, gilded scimitars and strange liquors that promised eternal life. If she wanted to get the mantis head, she’d have to swing a hammer down onto a lever as hard as she could, but as she skipped her way into the front of the queue and lifted the hammer over her shoulder, all her confidence left her: it was just too heavy, and the mantis head was too high. When someone yelled at her for skipping the line, she dropped the hammer and ran. She would find better luck with the other prizes.

The next reward, the elixir of eternal wakefulness, was sitting on the center of a table alongside bags of snails and jewels and paper documents of all kinds. Around the table, a number of frogs and toads were playing cards.

“What are you playing?” She asked as she approached them.

“It’s called Called It,” explained an old toad lady.

“Called It?”

“That’s what you yell when you win, Called It. Here, let me show you.”

The old lady – her name was Marsha –  explained the rules carefully to her, but they were contradictory and convoluted, and no matter how patient she was or for how long she kept the other players waiting, Anne couldn’t grasp the point of the game. She had an idea of how it worked, you had to get rid of all your cards, which were based on a combination of different types of bugs and different letters in the ancient newtopian script, but other than that, she was hopeless when she inevitably tried to play and her hands somehow became full of cards, and all the snail bags and jewels and the elixir of eternal wakefulness ended up in the arms of Marsha herself, who laughed maniacally as she unscorched the bottle and drank from it as soon as she had it in her hands. Only then Anne realized she must have explained the rules of the game wrong on purpose, because everyone’s cards were different from hers, and in that way she got her to give up the few snails she’d brought along to the bazaar

Anne sighed. Okay, no elixir of eternal wakefulness, but maybe she could still find Mycroft Newtback’s butterfly! She searched the entire market looking for it, avoiding Hop Pop whenever she spotted him in the crowd, until she finally saw a beautiful bronze artifact with a shining winding key on its back and two fine metal wings sitting on a shelf with the label of “Mycroft Newtback’s last brilliant invention” above. It was a reward for a dunk tank, which had a long queue and an empty platform. Inside the tank, a pair of eels hissed and snapped their teeth at the empty water. 

Anne skipped the queue again, earning some yelling from the people behind her, but soon she found herself with a hard and heavy ball in her hand regardless, and this time, she felt ready, because she had a great aim and all she had to do was to hit a target and get her hands on the butterfly. Oh, yeah, she was ready to drown whoever they put on that platform, baby! Too bad for them, but she was getting that butterfly no matter what!

Then, the… the guards? The guards of the bizarre bazaar brought a quivering old toad lady, with her hands tied behind her back, and sat her down on the platform hanging above the eels despite her whimpering and struggling. It was Marsha, and Anne realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she wasn’t a volunteer.

“Please! How was I supposed to know that was a rule?” She said.

“No cheating in the bizarre bazaar,” said the guards

“I thought anything went in the bizarre bazaar!”

They didn’t offer a reply. They just left her there, all alone, while the crowd cheered and booed. Someone shook Anne’s shoulder in encouragement, but all Anne could do was stare at this old lady who had so patiently tricked her into losing all her snails. She vaguely wondered if that counted as cheating, or if she’d been caught cheating at something else. Regardless, cheating was wrong! Always! And she was a toad, and everyone knew toads were big meanies who harassed frogs like it was their bread and butter. And Anne really, really needed that butterfly if she wanted to find Emile Gloomswim. So she raised her right hand, the one that held the ball, and looked straight at the target.

And then something in her heart twisted and softened, and tears pricked at her eyes, and she threw the ball at the tank instead. The glass shattered, the water spilled everywhere and the eels crawled out, causing people all around to scream and run away in panic, as the guards of the bazaar tried to recapture the animals. While everyone was distracted, Anne climbed up the ladder to the platform where Marsha stood and undid her ties and said:

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Quick!”

She grabbed the old lady’s hand and guided her deep into the crowd and far away from the guards, and they ran and ran until Marsha asked to stop, because her legs weren’t what they once had been and she got tired quickly. Anne looked around to make sure no guards were around, and sat with Marsha on a bench nearby.

“Woah. What did just happen?” She asked.

“I was caught cheating at balloon knife toss,” Marsha explained. Anne wondered how cheating at that worked, but she resolved that it didn’t really matter. “I suppose that was the punishment.”

“But that’s so unfair!” Anne said. “It was… it was… I know cheating is wrong, but this was way worse!”

“Oh, my poor heart won’t stop pounding!” Said Marsha, holding her chest.

“I don’t care if you cheated at a game! I don’t even care that you tricked me! No one deserves that!” Anne continued. “Why are people here so mean?”

“It’s the bizarre bazaar, dearie. Everything goes in the bizarre bazaar.”

“Well… well…” She stomped her foot and slumped into her seat. “That is so mean.”

Marsha laughed.

“That’s one way to put it. But I like it here. Been traveling with them for ten years and it beats Toad Tower by a hundred miles.”

Anne looked up.

“You were a tower toad?” She asked.

“I was the head cook of the Western Toad Tower!” Marsha exclaimed with pride. “Though I left when Lord Eirik died and Ragnar inherited the seat. Oh, he was a vicious one. A cruel leader. I had no business working for him, so I left.”

“Huh. I never thought toad towers had cooks,” Anne said, thinking out loud. Her eyes widened. Cooks. Food. Lunch. Weird one-handed newt. She rose to her feet. “Oh, crap! I have something to do. See you later, Marsha! Don’t get caught!”

“Wasn’t planning on it, dear! Take care!” She said. “Oh, and take this!” She tossed a small bag and Anne caught it in the air. It was the snails she’d lost in the game.

She looked up.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank this mean old woman. Now go!”

Anne ran and ran until she found the old newt’s stall, just as she was turning around her ‘out for lunch’ sign. 

“Old lady! Old lady!” She called.

“I’m not that old, child,” hissed the newt. “So, did you bring me what I asked you for?”

Anne’s eyes filled with tears.

“I… I… no.” She said. “I couldn’t lift the hammer high enough. I… I didn't even try. And I didn't understand the rules of that card game at all. And at the dunk tank… I… Marsha… She didn’t deserve to be put there just for cheating! I know it’s wrong to cheat, but…”

“So you come back empty-handed, I assume expecting still my help.”

“I…”

“Even though you didn’t even try to strike the hammer. Even though you couldn’t follow the rules of a simple game of cards. Even though you deliberately missed your only chance of getting my aid at finding Emile Gloomswim by refusing to drop someone who wronged you in the water.”

“She was nice to me later!” Anne protested. She looked down in embarrassment, but the old newt smiled.

“Ah, now I know which one you are. To give up such a chance for a foe, one must have a big heart. I’m proud of you, Blue Star,” she said. Anne looked up in surprise.

“What did you just call me?”

“I will help you find your Emile Gloomswim. Is that your wish?”

“Oh! Yes! To find Emile Gloomswim and find my family!”

“Then it shall be done!”

She produced a wooden staff from her cloak and slammed it into the ground, and a series of glowing purple footprints appeared in the distance.

“Follow them!” The old newt said. “They shall lead you to your friend.”

Anne looked at her with wonder and confusion, and she felt so happy she almost wanted to hug her, but she had more urgent matters at hand, so she contented herself with waving and shouting a quick ‘thank you!’ before diving back into the crowd, following the footprints diligently, until she spotted purple skin, a bald head and bushy eyebrows right in front of her. It was Emile Gloomswim undeniably, and he was chatting with someone from a siren-skin stand. 

Anne didn’t miss a chance. She ran up to him and tugged at his dark cloak.

“Huh?” He looked annoyed for a second, and then his gaze lowered and met Anne’s. “Lady Anne! What a pleasure to see you again.”

“Mr. Gloomswim, I have the box!”

His eyes widened and he looked around.

“Hush, now! Not so loud,” he said. “Come here, come here. Let me see it.”

He took her somewhere behind the curtain of an empty stall, and only then, in the silence and darkness of the place, Anne dared take the box out of its hiding spot and show it to her new friend.

Emile Gloomswim rubbed his hands together.

“After all this time,” he mumbled. “May I hold it?”

Anne didn’t see why not, so she held it up and offered it to him. He took it in his delicate newt hands, rotating it slowly and admiring every single intricate detail of it.

“It’s more beautiful than I ever thought,” he said. “You found it. You truly found it.”

“It was behind my Hop Pop’s desk,” she said.

“Your Hop Pop, huh? Do you have any idea how he came by it?” He asked, and then he shook his head. “No matter. We can discuss all of this on our way to Newtopia. Your friend has been anxious to see you, our Archmaster tells us you and Sasha are all she ever talks about!”

“Who’s Sasha?”

Emile opened his mouth to answer, but instead of a response, what Anne heard was the bone-chilling shriek of a heron above.

Chapter Text

The moment the door outside closed, Hoppediah knew something was wrong. Because no one ever left that late in the night, much less without telling him. He himself might be an exception – considering his late-night talks with Sadie Croaker – but that was unimportant. What mattered was that someone was sneaking out, and sure, it could be Thistle taking out Sprig to see some fireflies, but he hadn’t heard the door to Leafey and Thistle’s room open. He darted from his bed at once. Something was wrong. He could feel it. He scrambled into his waistcoat, hustled down the stairs and opened the door to the basement only to find Anne’s bed empty and Polly’s bucket all alone by the boiler. 

“Dammit, Anne!” He cursed. He heard stomping above, and found Leafey and Thistle scrambling down the stairs.

“Pops? What happened?”

“Anne is gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean by gone?” Leafey pushed past him to take a look at the basement, and gulped. “We need to find her. Thistle, you check the town. Pops, you search the nearby farms, take Sprig with you and leave him with Mrs. Croaker. I’ll take Bessie and look for her trail in the forest and…”

“Absolutely not!” Hoppediah stomped his foot down. “The two of you, listen to me.” He pointed an accusatory finger at both of them. “We are not splitting up in the middle of the night after one of us has gone missing. You stay with Sprig. I’ll go search for Anne myself.”

Leafey laughed.

“Not happening, old man,” she said. “We’re all going, and that’s final. I’m not risking her getting hurt just because you’re scared.”

“Scared?” Hoppediah scowled, and as he processed her words he said: “Oh, you think you know all there is to know, don’tcha, Leafey? Always wanting to be the one calling the shots!”

“Oh, is this a good time to fight? Is that what you want? Anne is missing and you want to fight me?”

“Um, Hop Pop, if I may…”

“Not now, Thistle. I’m talking to my daughter.

“No, no, let him speak. What did you want to say, love?”

“Oh, now you’re listening to what others have to say!”

“Cut it, Pops! Jeez, what’s gotten into you?”

“I can search the forest,” said Thistle, “if that’s what you’re worried about, Hop Pop. Maybe if you and Leafey search the town together…”

“Not you too.” Leafey rolled her eyes. “I said I’m searching the woods, whether y’all like it or not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Anne could be cold, or– or scared, or running from a mantis as we speak, so…”

“You are not going anywhere!” Hoppediah stood with his arms spread in front of the door.

“Get out of the way, old man.”

“And you’re done calling me old man too! I’m your father, for Frog’s sake, and I have no business taking orders from my own daughter! I don’t want either of you risking your lives when you have a tadpole to care for and another child depending on you for protection! I have lived my years, and I’m not scared of some mantis in the woods! Not if Anne is out there in need of us!”

“There’s no need for you to go alone! Why would we stay? This is ridiculous.”

“You stay here because you have someone who needs you, and another kid on the way.” His gaze softened. “I know these woods like the back of my hand, child. If she’s in town or in the nearby farms, she’ll be fine, but  she’s out there…” He exhaled. “We better find her fast.”

Leafey gritted her teeth, her eyes narrow and moist and her expression all twisted. She looked away and her shoulders sagged. 

“Promise me you’ll come back quicky,” she said. 

“I promise.”

“Alright. Then go, before she gets hurt.”

Hoppediah nodded, and gave his daughter and son-in-law one last look before exiting the house. Getting Bessie and riding to the edge of the woods took mere minutes. Finding Anne’s trail took longer, but he spotted a broken lantern and not far from there, something he hadn’t seen in decades: the entrance to the bizarre bazaar.

It had been almost nostalgic: a persecution through the bazaar was just what he needed to take him back to the good old times. But the matter at hand was finding Anne and bringing her back home. He could wonder about why or how or when she even came up with the idea of visiting the bazaar later. He would very much, definitely scold her severely for running away from him later, too.

Now, he found himself looking for her more desperately than ever as the herons above wrecked the place. Their long legs crushed the stalls, stomped over frogs and newts and toads alike and sent bugs fluttering everywhere. Screams of terror and pain filled the night. People were desperate to get away as quickly as possible, and they stumbled over each other for any ladybug or cricket around with which they could fly away, only to be caught in the heron’s beak midair and swallowed whole like they were nothing. 

“Hop Pop!” He heard. “Hop Pop! I’m sorry! I’m here!”

“Anne!”

She was hiding under the debris of a broken stall. He rushed towards her, and she latched her arms out to hug him.

“Hop Pop, I’m so sorry!”

“Shh. It’s okay, Anne. Now be quiet. These things have a great sense of hearing.”

She whimpered and nodded. Hop Pop covered her eyes with one hand. She was too young to see what was happening around her, how the herons devoured frog and toad and newt alive. At one point, a purple newt slithered out from under the rubble, raised a dagger and proclaimed:

“In the name of the rightful queen, I shall not let –  gah!” 

A massive beak closer around him. The heron threw him in the air and swallowed him in one big sweep, and Anne broke into silent tears. 

The box fell right in front of them. Hop Pop looked at it in shock, and lurched forward to grab it. He would question Anne about it later. For now, he gave it back to her.

“Now, hold on to this,” he said. “On the count of three, we run, okay?”

Anne nodded through her tears. She couldn’t say anything.

Hoppediah observed and waited until the herons had both turned their backs to them, too busy eating the dead bodies of crushed frogs on the other end of the place. He counted to three, grabbed Anne’s hand, and ran as fast as his old knees allowed. They left the blood-red lights of the bazaar behind and rushed for Bessie, who dutifully waited just outside despite looking so terrified. Hoppediah had things clear in his mind: bring Anne back home and make sure she was okay. Scoldings could wait for the next morning. They had to leave the herons behind.

He fed Bessie berries and said the words to spur her on, and they were soon gliding through the forest at full speed, screams following them deep into the night. A large shadow passed over them, and Hoppediah realized with terror that it was heading towards Wartwood.

“Come on, old girl!” He said to Bessie. “We can make it on time!”

Bessie chirped with determination. Anne held onto Hoppediah’s back and cried into his waistcoat, and Hoppediah wished to comfort her, but he was too busy and frankly, growingly angry with her to do so. His heart pounded in his chest so hard it hurt. He’d promised Leafey. He would never forgive himself if he was late.

They drifted over rocks and roots and under the low bushy branches of trees, and across the hardened snow of the fields past the edge of the woods and the rough icy peat below. Bessie huffed and puffed, most likely hurting in her soft underbelly from the strain and roughness of the ground, but she pushed on regardless. Hoppediah gripped the reins so tightly they left indents in his hands, which had grown numb. He thought of nothing but Leafey and Sprig and Polly, and spurred Bessie on again, harder. The herons screeched above. He smelled smoke, and saw fire in the distance. The fields were burning, and the flames swallowed entire farms like they were made of paper. Further still, he saw smaller fires in the town. The smoke burned his eyes, and Bessie hissed and spluttered at the smell, but he snapped the reins again not caring one bit for her comfort, and she kept on the pace, heading for the farm. Their home. 

He halted at once, his stomach sinking. Flames crept up the walls of the old house. He suddenly felt lightheaded. Leafey. He needed to find Leafey. He thought about nothing but her as he saw the herons crash their beaks into the roof. Anne screamed behind him. He needed to tell Leafey to get out of there. That was his last thought as he saw them grab Thistle’s plumb form and swallow him in one bite. He needed to get Leafey and her children out of there. Anne cried, but he barely heard her. He saw a blue light from the edge of his vision, but all his thoughts were on his Leafey, and in how desperately he needed her to hear him, to get down from there. He tried to scream but he couldn’t open his mouth. Didn’t she realize she needed to get down from there? From the heron’s beak? Her front half fell and crashed into the floor. He needed to get her out of there, a sticky red liquid pooling under her. He grabbed the rake than hung from the side of Bessie’s saddle and charged. but the heron bowed down, and grabbed Leafey from the hair and lifted her up again, and her limp arms hung loosely as her insides uncoiled wetly at the hard pull, and it tossed her into the air again and caught her in its mouth, and ate her. 

Anne cried something. Hoppediah didn’t know where he’d gotten the strength or speed from, but he stabbed the creature in the side, and it shrieked and batted its gigantic wings and slapped him away. He crashed into the hard frozen dirt, and in front of him then fell the bird’s lifeless head. 

Anne kept crying, and only then Hoppediah saw her. 

He would tell her some day of how her brown hair had risen in an invisible wind and turned the color of the blue moon, during the darkest night of the year. He’d tell her of the terrifying speed, the brutal strength she sported, how she flew without wings from one side of the herons’ neck to the other, and how she came from the other end bloody and panting. But it would be years until then, because Anne was only seven years old, and she’d just seen the only parents she knew die before her eyes.

“Give them back,” was the only thing she said, between tears, and then she landed softly on the ground again, between Hoppediah and the head of the heron, and her knees buckled and she dropped unconscious on the dirt.

Hoppediah could have sworn he cried her name, but he wasn’t sure he could open his mouth at all. He just rushed forward and caught her before she hit her head. 

He realized he was trembling. He needed to go get Leafey, make sure she was alright. Then his heart broke into a million pieces, the image he’d just seen forever imprinted now in the back of his eyelids, and all he could was cry his throat raw.

He found Sprig and Polly curled up in the basement. Or rather, it was Sprig all curled around Polly’s bucket. Polly was an egg. She hadn’t seen anything. She wouldn’t remember anything.

But Sprig was crying. Hoppediah jumped inside, skipping the stairs, and pulled the little pollywog into a hug.

“It’s okay, my boy,” he said. “I’m here.”

Nothing was okay, but he couldn’t think about it. Even if he tried. Even if his mind wanted to, he couldn’t. He brought Anne’s unconscious body down to the basement, the only room in the house that had remained untouched, and laid her down on her bed with great effort. 

“Anne!” Sprig exclaimed, and jumped into her bloody side. “Hop Pop! Is she okay?”

“She’s asleep,” Hoppediah reassured him, even though he didn’t know. He kept thinking that he needed to talk to Leafey about it. 

Blood stained the stone floor of the living room area, now roofless and exposed to the elements. Rain had began to fall at some point, and it had hushed away the fire, but it did not wash the red from the walls. Or what remained of them. Hoppedia stumbled around numbly, and then collapsed onto a fallen wooden beam and sat there for maybe hours, while Sprig talked to an unconscious Anne below. The boy was all alone, Hoppediah thought absently. He was all alone.

For a while he just stared forward. Thunder cracked above. Hoppediah was a frog, and frogs naturally liked the rain, but this time it brought him no comfort. It only made him feel cold.

“Leafey…” he hiccuped, and broke into tears again. It was a nightmare, all just a nightmare, he thought, and soon he would wake up to the smell of bugacchinos in the kitchen, and she would call him an old man and mock the state of his knees. He cried until his throat burned, and Sprig got scared and came out of the basement to hug him. The boy didn’t ask where his parents were. He didn’t say a word. He just cuddled into his Hop Pop’s side in silence, and cried softly with him.

The days went by as if they had any business doing so. How the sun could keep on rising and setting without Leafey –  and Thistle –  Hoppediah did not know. It was wrong that he still had to tend to the crops and travel to the town market every week to sell produce just two days after what happened. It was an abomination. It made him want to kill anyone who crossed his path. At one point, about a week after the incident, Anne accidentally tripped and dropped a picture of Leafey and Thistle into the fireplace, and Hoppediah cursed her in so many ways that by the time he was done, they were both in tears, and he felt more ashamed than he’d ever been in his life. Years later, he would regret not being there for her the way she needed him, but thankfully Sadie Croaker was there to lend a hand. She showed up one day and didn’t leave for weeks. She often fed Anne herself, bringing down food to the basement so she wouldn’t have to climb the stairs. It had taken her two days to wake up, and she still felt weak and needed help getting around the house, though she didn’t leave the basement much. And as the days passed, so did the weeks, and with time Sprig stopped asking where his mom and dad went when Hoppediah said they were ‘gone’. Maybe Sadie had explained death to him. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. He wanted to burn everything he saw. 

Felicia Sundew had lost her husband. Mr. Flour had lost his wife. He had three eggs to care for, and a small pollywog only a little bit younger than Sprig. Hoppediah wanted to express his condolences to them, but every time he thought about it, he thought about Leafey, and Sadie Croaker took care to deliver the message for him, in the form of big pots of food because he kept making too much and it all went to waste the first few days. Mostly, he moved numbly through his days. He kept himself busy. If he didn’t, he fell to his knees and banged his fists against the floor until they hurt too much to keep going. So it was best that he did. He cleaned and cooked and patched up the house bit by bit. He would have called Chuck to help him –  he grew tulips – but his wife had died by the herons, so he wouldn’t dare. Instead, he took care of it himself. It wasn’t the first time the Plantar’s house had been destroyed and it wouldn’t be the last. As for the dead heron outside, well, its partner hadn’t come back to see it, if herons did that at all. They mated for life, after all, but they were no love doves. They were beasts. So it rotted outside until Sadie Croaker gathered a number of neighbors to burn it, and as for the large gash that split its neck open, nobody asked questions, but they all knew where it came from, and heeding to his words from years ago, they all treated Anne with silent reverence now. The rare times she left the house, people struggled to look her in the eye.

Anne herself didn’t talk much. She mostly spoke to Sprig, and only when Sprig sought her out. Sometimes, Hoppediah caught her whispering little songs to Polly, but when it came to him, she only spoke when spoken to. And he didn’t speak to her much, either.

Soon, something else began to bother him. Leafey’s shawl draped over a chair. Thistle’s fiddle sitting in a corner of their room. The unkept sheets, the dusty wardrobe, all these things that simply sat there as if waiting for them to come back and use them. To continue with a life that no longer existed. And what right did they have? What allowed them to remain there, while Leafey and Thistle were gone? Everything bothered him nowadays. The empty house, the silent rooms, the way in which it almost felt as if they were gone on a trip, as if they’d come back any day now. He soon saw them in every corner of the house. Every couch was a place where Thistle sat down to read stories. Every wall was a spot where Leafey had doddled on as a tadpole. The little bite marks on the doorframes from when she’d first began to grow her teeth. The creaky step on the stairs that always alerted him when she went out behind his back in her youth. His Leafey. His baby. 

One day, he decided to take a page from Anne’s book, and he gathered all of Leafey’s things and began to throw them into the fire. Dresses and books and all sorts of little souvenirs and trinkets and everything that reminded him of her, because everything in the house sang about Leafey and every single doorstep, every step in every staircase, every scratch in the wall spoke to the time she spent inside these walls, the way too few years they shared together, the spots where he’d marked her height as she grew up, the place where she’d eaten the wallpaper as a tadpole, and it all reminded him of how he’d never be truly happy again, because every minute spark of joy would only make him think ‘I wish Leafey was here with me’ .

Then his eyes welled up with tears. He hated himself halfway through his endeavor and tried to salvage anything he could from the fire. During that entire mess, he found at one point a bag. A backpack he hadn’t seen in years. Seems like Leafey had kept it. He recognized it instantly as Anne’s old backpack, the one she had when they first found her, and his heart twisted so painfully in his chest that he just had to open it. Inside, he found the exact same objects he’d seen before: a blanket, a bottle, crayons, a little notebook with writing exercises. Nothing new, at first, but then he flipped the pages to the very last one, and he saw something he hadn’t seen before: a square piece of paper stuck to the back cover of the notebook. The letters there were printed rather than handwritten. It read “Saint James Kindergarten School”, followed by what looked like numbers and the words “Los Angeles, CA”. That was strange enough. Below read:

STUDENT INFORMATION

Name: Andrew Boonchuy

Date of Birth: June 6, 2006

Grade: Kindergarten (Pre-K 3)

PARENT INFORMATION

Mother: Oum Boonchuy

Phone: (213) 992-9929

Father: Bee Boonchuy

Phone: (213) 555-1212

EMERGENCY CONTACT

Cynthia Wu (Family Friend)

Phone number: (323) 469-0269

IF FOUND PLEASE CONTACT THE PREVIOUS NUMBERS AND RETURN TO OWNER.

He stopped, for a moment. He re-read that several times, and he thought, ‘well, seems like we’ve been getting the name wrong for a few years, then,’ and laughed to himself, though he didn’t think it mattered, at this point. It mattered much less considering what he was planning to do, because all of this reminded him of something, and he went to get the box from where he’d hid it in his new bedroom, recently reconstructed, and stood before the fire, glaring at it with determination. He rose the box and the backpack high above his head… and he softly lowered them again. These were leads. The only ones they had. The only string to pull from if they ever wanted to get Anne home. He couldn’t – it was horrible, a horrible thought and a horrible thing he was about to do. He wouldn’t.

But they were dangerous. The box had killed Leafey, of that there was no doubt, and who knew whether or not Anne may try again one day? The Bazaar. How stupid. How useless was he to let her sneak out, to take so long to notice she was gone. And the backpack was just as dangerous. It was proof of her parents, her origins, her name, and yet it offered so little in regards to information. No, it was best that Anne did not know. That she forgot about it. That they all forget about it, and move on with their lives. There was nothing beyond the sea.

So he went out with a shovel and chose a spot under a tree to dig a deep hole, and he put the box inside the backpack and threw it inside, and covered it in dirt and hid it forever. 

He might have lost Leafey and Thistle, but he wouldn’t lose Sprig and Polly too. And if Sadie Croaker had been half-right about Anne a couple of years ago, well, he didn’t need to think too much about that, because there was something else he’d found amongst Leafey’s things, and he’d send it off the day after. A formal request. The initiation of a legal process that would guarantee Anne an inheritance, a home and a name. She’d be made legally a frog, subject to frog law just like the rest of her new official family, no longer an orphan, but Hoppediah Plantar’s granddaughter in every sense that mattered. Because Leafey and Thistle had been planning to adopt her. Officially. From what Hoppediah read, they’d been thinking about it for months, about what it would mean for Sprig and Polly’s inheritance, and they seemed to have concluded that it wouldn’t be a problem. That they wanted her. And that they weren’t confident in finding her family after so long. Hoppediah didn’t know what the business with the box was, but he found that he didn’t care for it, or for Anne’s true parents, or for whatever was beyond the sea. He cared for his family. For Sprig and the unborn Polly and for Anne, too. He loved her like she was his own.

So he presented the paper to the mayor, the one with his dead daughter’s signature on it, and something in his bored, dull eyes came alive for a moment with a glint of compassion as he slammed a big seal over it to allow it, and one month later, when the paperwork was done and the social worker had authorized everything, he sat Anne down and asked:

“Anne, how would you like to be adopted?”

Anne didn’t talk much these days, but she’d hugged Hoppediah so tightly he could barely breathe, and when they put a pen in her hand, she was happy to clumsily sign the papers for the first time as Anne Plantar, now her real name, legally a frog, and Hoppediah’s new child to care for and watch over, to love, and to make sure she never tried running away ever again.

Chapter Text

He received the letter early in the morning and his guest late in the evening. He’d brought his own toads along, who carried him through the gates of the tower in a palanquin, and then Captain Grime himself guided him through the complex system of pulleys and elevators that led them to the guests’ chambers, more commonly enjoyed by noble newts, with its silken curtains and bedcovers the color of blood, its warm stone walls that glistened in the light of the fireplace, and the many decorative weapons, shields and armor racks that elevated this room among the common foot soldier’s barracks, and above Captain Grime’s bedchambers themselves. His guest was Lord Aldo, Captain of the Northern Toad Tower and the last one of the true Toad Lords.

His entourage had been a quiet one. He’d parted from the seaport of the Northern Toad Tower on a cog and circled the east, making a stop by the Eastern Toad Tower before resuming down the strait between the shores of Kaeru and the teardrop Islands and up the streams of Gloombrook River to Castle Mulgaris, where the nervous newt archmasters of House Wrenford had welcomed him with the appropriate honors. From there, it was a short trek by land through the Dark Woods to Wraithwater River, where he’d taken a small boat under the name of Uldric the poor, blind old toad with fingers like dry twigs and bones of brittle paper, traveling with his sons to meet family in Bog Bottom, Frog Valley. They sailed from the small town of Vermis to Lake Blackthorn, the large body of water separating Frog Valley to the north, and the Duchy of Snarlsburg to the south. They sailed upwards the high mountain stream of Hopfen Creek until their small boat couldn’t go any longer, and they’d bought some spiders in Swamp Shiro to take them the rest of the journey.  In total, the trip had taken four months. A mosquito would have made it in a matter of days. Not only had Aldo taken the time to make the trip himself in his state, he’d also done it in complete secret. As far as Grime knew, only his lieutenant, a toad named Ingrid, knew the details of his expedition. The rest of his toads thought it was a routine journey to consult with his fellow captains, a pilgrimage he’d been known for in his younger days. Other than them, some eastern toads and a select few of Grime’s own soldiers, nobody even knew he’d left his tower at all. His letters hadn’t specified anything, either. All Grime knew was that they had important business to discuss, so important that they should only be spoken of in person. 

He led Lord Aldo to the large seat by the fireplace, so he may rest his tired feet. One of Captain Grime’s stewards brought them a meal – roasted beetlehog meat with black bread and redcurrant sauce, stuffed swan and salmon pie, all accompanied by spiced berberry wine and honeymead for Aldo’s northern tastes. They ate in silence, as toads were a serious caste and didn’t use two words when one could do, but to share a first meal with the last of the true Toadlords after such a long and tedious journey was the honorable thing to do. By the time they were finished and the stewards had carried off all the plates, Grime dismissed everyone from Lord Aldo’s chambers with a simple gesture of his hand. His narrow yellow eyes trailed his stewards’s steps out the hall, and he waited until their footsteps were out of earshot to speak.

“It’s good to see you, old friend.”

Lord Aldo grumbled and coughed. A deep rumbling noise came from the back of his throat.

“The King,” he said, “has summoned all the Captains to Newtopia to swear fealty to the new Princess.”

Ah, so that’s what he wanted to talk about. Yes, it made sense that Aldo would want to speak of it in person so much that he’d travel south for it.

“I know. I received a letter as well, old man,” he said. “But I would like to hear your thoughts.”

“I do not need eyes to see what’s in front of me,” Lord Aldo continued. “The child is an abomination. After Ragnar…” his voice grew tight for a moment. “After my grand-nephew and his son were killed, his spies in Newtopia turned towards me. I know how this creature looks better than every newt in that city. I know she has no tail, and that her skin is brown rather than blue like her father’s. She has a flat face save for a bump in the middle of it, like the tip of a rat’s snout, but she has no snout. The Princess is no newt, and even if she truly comes from the King’s seed, she must be an unnatural creation of science. The newts have gone too far in their pursuit against nature.”

Captain Grime served them both a bit of wine and held a goblet in front of Aldo,  who smelled it and took it in his hand.

“I have heard queer things of this creature, yes,” Captain Grime said. “Namely, that she’s been kept hidden since her hatching eight years ago. I found it rather odd, but I suppose it makes sense if we take into account that the King needed a scientific apparatus to conceive her. She might have been too weak for the longest time.”

The case of Princess Marcy was a strange one, of that there was no doubt. The summoning of the toad captains was to be on the day of her presentation, where she’d be introduced to the court and the Newtopian nobility for the first time. That, Captain Grime was aware of. It coincided with the celebrations for the end of the war, which he heard Newtopians had taken to call the Sand Wars in relation to the sandy dunes of the Westpoint Peninsula. 

“It’s a smart move,” Captain Grime continued. “The King wants to avoid more toad rebellions in the future, and this would allow him to legitimize her power when she comes of age.”

He and Aldo stared at each other. The black sockets that sank where Aldo’s eyes should be dug deep into his soul. Captain Grime narrowed his eyes. Both waited for the other to acknowledge the elephant mantis in the room. Then, Aldo spoke:

“The King is dead,” he said. “He might as well be. There comes a point in an amphibian’s life where you realize your end is near, and you begin to make preparations for it.”

“If he needs the Captains to swear fealty to her…”

“The Archmasters of the Great Newt Houses too,” said Aldo. “King Andrias has ruled for almost a thousand years. I believe those years are coming to an end.” He drank his wine. “Ragnar always told me he couldn’t be eternal. I didn’t believe him for the longest time, because I am old and I have seen the King, and he looks no older than he did when I was a tadpole, so I didn’t support my nephew’s rebellion when he asked me to. A world without Andrias Leviathan was unthinkable to me.”

Grime regarded him for a moment.

“I sense that this has to do with more than succession politics.”

Aldo’s thin claws clutched at the armrest of his couch, scratching roughly at the wood.

“Ragnar is gone,” he said in his gravely voice. “His tadpole is gone. I am the last of my blood. My family was blessed by Saint Barrel the Brave many centuries ago, and we sat in the Four Towers for a long time, but now a commonborn will take my Ragnar’s place in the Western Tower.”

“My sister,” Captain Grime reminded him. Lord Aldo nodded.

“I respect your strength, Grime. Don’t misunderstand me,” he said. “As I respect Bufo’s. I had this same conversation with him on my way south. But commonborns have been appointed to the Southern and Eastern towers for a very long time. I don’t expect you to understand the ties of blood and inheritance. My father before me sat at the Northern Tower, as did Ragnar’s mother in the West. Before my father, it was my grandfather, and his mother before him. But you did not know the toad that ruled this valley before you. They did not tell you stories as a tadpole and did not sit you on their knees.”

“Yet you still come to me, old man,” Captain Grime said. “What are you suggesting?”

Lord Aldo raised a hand.

“I suggest we refrain from attending the Princess’ presentation,” he said. “One of us was killed in cold blood, and his killer just became a general in the Newtopian army. We cannot bend our knees at this time.”

“You’re speaking of treason,” Captain Grime commented.

“I speak of a time during King Andrias’ early reign, before he united the Newt Houses and the Toad Kingdoms. I have my stewards read me the old history. Newtopia was no more than a trading city then, and toads ruled over the frogs and newts of their lands without intervention from anyone else. We enjoyed the tribute and were free to pursue our power as we pleased. And if one of us was wronged, we imparted justice as we saw fit.”

“A pleasant dream,” Captain Grime said. He scratched his chin. “What did Bufo say?”

“If you travel to Newtopia, you will not see him.”

“I see. Will you speak to my sister about this?”

“No,” said Aldo. “She recently became Captain upon Newtopia’s victory, and she will not risk her new station. It’s a sad thing. There were toads closer to Ragnar who should have taken his place, but the Archmasters of House Mireveil intervened, and she was elected instead. Someone else may have used their position at the head of three thousand mourning toads to strengthen the fight, but I know your sister, and she will be brutal. She will purge the West of any traces of rebellion and create an army of loyalists, if it means preserving her power.”

“Well, Beatrix has always been one to fend only for herself,” Captain Grime reasoned. “You come to propose a rebellion, then. Is that what I hear, old man?”

“This is the time,” said Aldo. “The King is weak. His heir is a monster. And he has taken Ragnar from us.”

The conversation ended there. From then on, they discussed lesser matters, such as the state of each tower and of their respective holds, and soon Aldo grew tired and dismissed Grime from his bedchambers. He would be returning north in a few days, and he ought to rest well until then. Captain Grime, from his part, had other business to attend to. He kept in mind Lord Aldo’s description of the princess, and as soon as he was alone in the elevator, descending into the depths of the dungeons, he couldn’t help but grin. He’d kept his voice steady and his mannerisms relaxed through the entire conversation, enough to not give away what he knew. Oh, he felt high and dizzy on power. Not even Aldo had the entire picture, and with every new piece of information he collected, he came closer and closer to the truth.

The elevator halted at the lowest level, hitting the earth and lifting up a cloud of dust. The dungeons were poorly lit, and the few inhabitants of this level were mostly silent, if not dead already. Some groans of hunger came from a cell or two, but otherwise, the cobblestone walls and the muddy ground offered nothing but darkness, moisture and silence. He grabbed one of the only torches from the wall and stomped towards the farthest, deepest cell, but as he came closer, he saw the soft light of a lantern, and heard a conversation.

“And this is a kazoo,” an irritating voice explained.

“Can you play it?”

“Oh, please, don’t ask him to play it!”

“Now I have to hear it. Bring it, Percy!”

The ear-shattering wheeze of the kazoo reverberated through the walls. Some prisoner began to clap deliriously from his cell. This was ridiculous. Percy was awfully out of tune. Grime would know. He had a knack for the harp, and could tell real music apart from the trash he was hearing.

“Not bad, Percy! Oh, but you have to teach me to play the lute someday.”

“Gotta see if I can sneak it down without Grime noticing.”

“Oh my frog, who cares if he notices? What’s he gonna do? Take away my only source of entertainment?”

“Well, he could break it,” Percy said.

“Or send us to the pain room.”

“Oh, yeah. That.”

“Or I could lock you all in some of our darkest and coldest cells, since you seem to like this place so much,” he said, and the three little pieces of vermin froze.

Percy and Braddock were two of his most useless, incompetent soldiers. They had been drafted some ten years ago, but somehow those ten years had not been enough to shape them into true warriors. They preferred to waste their time with flower-braiding and music-playing rather than training with their fellow toads. More often than not, they would disappear from training, and more often than not, Grime would find them down here, with their little pet.

The creature was a lot like how Lord Aldo had described the princess: she had a flat face, with a small bump in the middle, though her skin was pink rather than brown. She had long, oily, dirty hair the color of wheat, and was nearly twice as tall as he was, but she was thinner than a newt, shaped more like a scarecrow than any amphibian he had ever seen, possibly because she wasn’t an amphibian at all.

She’d been laughing and smiling, but as soon as she saw him, her face became hard and unreadable, settling into a practiced neutrality, as if she could fool him and pretend she wasn’t scared. As if he hadn’t seen her create this stony persona in real time over the years. He knew her like the back of his hand. Deep down, she was quivering like a leaf.

He growled.

“You two. Leave us,” he said, pointing at Percy and Braddock. They looked pitifully at the creature. “Now!”

“Sir, yes sir!” They made a salute, and scrambled for the elevator. He waited until he heard it rise to look at the creature again and say: “Tell me about your friend Marcy again.”

She stared dead at him. He realized she wasn’t blinking. A new intimidation tactic, perhaps? She didn’t blink for a long time, but then her eye twitched, and she inevitably failed. He almost could have laughed at the pathetic attempt. It was a good one, though. Only eight years old and she could already feign fearlessness better than half of his soldiers.

He cleared his throat.

“Was I not clear? I gave you an order. Tell me about your friend.”

She continued to stare wordlessly. She was getting good at this little facade of hers, but he would break her. No matter how hard she tried, she was ultimately always easy to break.

He slammed a fist into the nearest bar, and she flinched.

“I have been too patient with you. You already told me you came with two friends: Marcy and Andrew, and that they have brown skin and dark hair. I suppose they also have a horrendous face bump and wiry build like you. I know what they look like and now I know where one of them is, so unless you want me to bring her down here with you to keep you company, you will tell me all you know about her. Right. Now.”

She gulped nervously.

“I already told you everything,” she said.

“Tell me again.”

“I don’t even know if they’re here.”

“Oh, but I do,” said Grime. “Have you not heard? Have Percy and Braddock not told you?”

In reality, there was no way for Percy and Braddock to access much information about the nature of their new princess. For all they knew, she was a normal newt. Even if the creature had told them her name, they had no reason to believe ‘Marcy’ was more common than they imagined. 

But he was particularly annoyed with Percy and Braddock, and the look of doubt in the creature’s eyes filled him with satisfaction.

“Tell me everything. Again.”

He grabbed the hilt of his sword, and saw the creature’s eyes drift down to it.

“My name is Sasha Waybright,” she began. “I’m a human. I don’t know how I came here. All I know is that I was with my friends, Andrew and Marcy. I don’t remember their last names.”

“What does Marcy look like?”

He knew the answer already. She had repeated the answers to his questions so many times they both had them memorized by now.

“She was small,” she said. “She was the smartest person I knew. She had short black hair and tan skin. Her eyes were brown. She talked a lot.”

“That’s enough,” said Grime. Black hair. Tan skin. Brown eyes. It was known that the Leviathans had grey eyes, and their hair was white, not black, not to mention their blue skin. “Sasha, I have a proposition for you.”

He had thought about it deeply while in the elevator. In fact, he’d been thinking about it since his talk with Aldo. 

He took a key and opened Sasha’s cell. She eyed him with caution and stepped back. 

“Come with me,” he said. “And don’t try anything. Or Percy and Braddock will suffer the consequences.”

She stayed right where she was for a moment, but then she took a deliberate step forward and followed Grime outside the cell. Her roughspun tunic hung from her frame like a sack of potatoes, and her long hair almost touched the floor. They would need to fix that.

They got into the elevator, and he pulled the lever to go up.

“Sasha, four years ago, I was witness to your power,” he said. “Never in my forty-three years of life had I ever seen anything like it.”

“Mhm.”

“I want to offer you a position in my army,” he said. She looked at him with surprise. “In exchange, you will have greater freedoms, and the possibility to see Percy and Braddock whenever you want.”

Because he knew Percy and Braddock were the only ones brave enough to approach the creature, and because he knew she was really fond of them. Despite their shortcomings, Grime had to give it to them: only they have become friends of the being that destroyed half the tower years ago and killed so many of their comrades.

The elevator halted at the highest level, and he guided her outside.

“Follow me,” he said, and they walked up a series of circular wooden stairs until they reached a latch in the ceiling. He pushed it open and climbed up a ladder outside.

The cool autumn wind shook the girl. A scarecrow indeed. She hugged herself. As some sort of mammal, she had her ways of staying warm. Hugging herself was one of them. 

“I know it’s been a long time since you’ve been outside.”

“I didn’t know it’d been four years,” she mumbled.

“Hardly that long. Listen to me, Sasha. From now on, you will train alongside my youngest soldiers, and when the time comes, you will fight for me.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Must I remind you again? I’m not asking if you want to do it. I know you care about Braddock and Percy, so I know you’ll do it whether you want to or not. Understood, soldier?”

He looked at her expectantly. Oh, she was seething, glaring at the ground with the fury of a thousand suns.

“Understood,” she muttered.

He grinned, his eyes narrowing.

“Good.”

Because Newtopia had one of these now. The princess wasn’t the King’s daughter. She wasn’t some strange experiment conjured up by newts. She was a human, like Sasha, and Grime knew for a fact humans were dangerous. And if they were going to rebel, they would need one on their side.

He offered Sasha a hand, and she reluctantly shook it.

“Welcome to my tower, soldier,” he said.

As they both stood side by side and looked at the forest below and the mountains in the distance, it dawned on him that he alone possessed this knowledge, of princess Marcy and the humans’ power, and that the heir to the throne was a being from another world.

Chapter Text

The celebrations began in the early afternoon, the palace brimming with life and light and with the many newts that came from all over the continent to meet their princess. Archmasters, Councilmen and Lawmen of all eleven Great Houses gathered peacefully for once in the great hall to celebrate the coming of a new heir, though not without confusion. Why their immortal King Andrias would need an heir was a mystery, and it was Lady Olivia’s job, as the King’s regent and a well-trusted lawwoman of House Scatterfish, to placate their doubts and ease their minds. She smoothed down her dress and gathered her wits as she maneuvered the hall, the tension in her shoulders growing with every conversation, every small gesture of passive-aggression directed at her person and House Scatterfish. Councilman Theobald Crest of House Wrenford had little love for her, as her mother had refused to marry him in their youth. The sons of Archmaster Briennen Brimstone, Councilmen Bartley, Brandson and Blair Brimstone, who lived in the palace with her and acted as royal technicians and analysts for the King, had always envied her position, and were using their father’s grand and respectable presence to try and undermine her. Oathwoman Jacinda Brine of House Butterworth was excitedly telling her about all the possibilities for social ascension with the death of Ragnar the Wretched, as the newts have taken to call the old Toadlord, and something in her small pupils made Olivia deeply unnerved, as if she were trying to see through her skull and into her brain, to fish for any misplaced word or microexpression to use against her. But Olivia wouldn’t give her anything. She wouldn’t give any of them anything. She replied to every assault of questions with an agreeable smile and gave vague answers to both deescalate the affront and put her company back in their place: she was the King’s regent, and you don’t become the King’s regent by chance, no. Olivia was a smart newt. A few words would do little to unstabilize her.

Despite the well-expected hostility between the representatives of the many houses, the ball was splendid. Curtains of stringed pearls hung from the ceiling and glistened in the soft sunlight that bled through the stained-glass windows, and glowing coral sculptures of newts and olms curled around every pillar and sprawled across the ceiling in a spectacle of artistry and light. At the end of the hall sat the large empty throne of their king Andrias Leviathan, first of his name and keeper of a thousand years of peace. He was still to join the celebrations, and so was the princess. Until then, it was Lady Olivia’s job to keep the guests entertained, to make them feel welcome and listened to, to be the face of the Shark-Tooth Crown and let them know that it was listening to their every word. After all, the Shark-Tooth Crown was the only thing keeping the peace among the Great Houses, and in its absence, they would descend into depravity and chaos.

“Lady Olivia,” said a smooth voice beside her. “I see you are with your hands full. Care for a moment of respite?”

She looked up to meet the gaze of the old male newt that towered over her. He had dull red skin and greying hair, a pair of bushy caterpillars sitting atop his brow, and was donning the leather jerkin and fur-lined cloak clasped with a seashell characteristic of the Night Watch.

“Headmaster Ernst,” said Lady Olivia with a small bow. “I admit I am surprised to see you at such an event.”

“Our dear princess shall be present,” he said. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”

They observed the crowd together for a moment. Jacinda Brine had gone off to harass some oathman from House Veilrend, and Archmaster Philanor Gable of House Brackish was engaging with a growingly unfriendly conversation with Archmaster Marshall Buxwell of House Snarl, the only House comprised in its majority not by newts, but by toads. Hailing from the southern Toad Duchy of Snarlsburg, Marshall Buxwell with his lawmen and oathmen stood out like a sore thumb among the many newts around them, but they carried themselves with grace and elegance, their skin shiny and colorful and not at all rough and warty like those of the tower toads, and their hair and beards combed into intricate braids to denote their noble status. Olivia knew better than to underestimate them. They were smart toads, and they replied to every quip with one twice as witty, leaving their adversaries confused as to whether they had been insulted or complimented. 

“They are like cannibals,” hissed Headmaster Ernst.

Olivia sighed. There was a reason she preferred Newtopia over her mother’s holds in the Scatterfish Strait. House Leviathan had only two members, and they loved each other.

“It is the way of the Houses,” she surmised. “I would consider myself lucky to be in your position. The Night Guard must not see so much hostility among its members.”

Headmaster Ernst chuckled.

“That very well is true, my lady,” he said, “and we are well-respected, too. Truly, the Guard is like a home to me, and my disciples are like my children. I have three, you see, that excel above all else. Kettle, Javi and Femur are their names. They are young and inexperienced, but full of potential. I expect to see them rise high in the ranks, hopefully to one day succeed me.”

Olivia spied through the corner of her eye a shadow skirting about, and she smiled.

“Indeed, you have always been good with children,” she said, just as a small five-fingered hand tugged at Ernst’s cape from behind a curtain. He turned around and smiled.

“Why, little princess Marcy!” He laughed. “I believe it is not time yet for you to come out. What are you doing here?”

The princess jumped up and down, hidden in the shadow of the curtains.

“Ernst! Ernst! Ernst! I couldn’t help myself, I am so excited! I can’t wait to come out and see everyone already!”

Lady Olivia looked around quickly and leaned in to whisper:

“Is your father aware that you’re sneaking around behind curtains in such a public place, young lady?”

The princess looked guiltily to the side, and wrung her hands together.

“...I don’t know.”

Olivia sighed and straightened her back. 

“Please return to your father, your Highness. We wouldn’t want anyone to see you before it’s time.”

“Woah! Are those real diamonds in your dress?”

“Your Highness.”

“Oh! Yes! What were you saying, again?”

“Your father, my lady.”

“Oh! Yes, yes, riiiiight!” She laughed. “I, um, haven’t seen him.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” Olivia rubbed her face and exhaled. “Your Highness, you must be by your father’s side when it’s time for your presentation. You cannot be out here.”

“Oh! Come on! Pleaaaaaase? Just a little more! Waiting is so boring, and I can safely observe the socio… so-cio-po…” She looked up at Ernst, who chuckled in response.

“Sociopolitical?”

“Yes! I can study the so-cio-po-li-ti-cal relations between the different actors from here just fine! I won’t bother anyone and no one will see me before it’s time! I promise!”

Ernst laughed.

“Well, aren’t you a brave young lady! And a sneaky one, too. Has anyone seen you so far?”

“Nope!” She said, making a small salute.

“How do you know?”

Her eyes widened and sparkled with excitement, a nervous smile stretching over her face. She began to shake with anticipation as she fished for something inside the pockets of her dark blue dress – because she asked her father that all her dresses had pockets – and produced something that looked like a small, poorly put-together mechanical sphere in the image of a fly’s eye.

“I devised a small contraption with sensors that detect eye contact by following a pattern-recognition loom-system through an infrared visor to warn me when someone is looking in my direction. It also tells me when someone wants to make eye contact with me, so I can mentally prepare myself for it. I’ll just put it in my pocket and it’ll vibrate whenever it catches something.”

Ernst’s eyes widened. He nodded.

“My, that’s very impressive! A lot of big words, too.”

“...And not to brag,” Marcy chuckled, a slightly smug tone in her voice. “Buuuut I only needed a tiiiny bit of help with this prototype. I did most of the work on my own this time.”

“Really? And who helped you?”

“Please, Headmaster, don’t encourage her,” said Olivia. She turned to the princess. “Princess Marcy, please .”

“I know, I know, I know! But, listen, if I can study the patterns in social interactions from as early as possible, I will be able to replicate them in a more natural-looking way later on! And…”

“Olivia, dearest, is that you?”

Lady Olivia stiffened. She shut the curtains closed in one rigid motion and turned around. There stood an older newt, her skin a pale blue and her dress adorned in all sorts of beautiful shining seashells and pearls, and her white hair combed back into intricate braids. Her skin sagged with age, but her severe eyes looked as hard and unmoved as they did since Olivia was an eft.

She inhaled shakily.

“Mother,” she said. Next to her, Ernst chuckled.

“Lady Scatterfish,” he said with a deep bow. “It’s an honor to meet you. Olivia has only spoken wonders of you.”

“Has she spoken of me? How odd. Her letters always take twice as long as normal to arrive,” she said. Ernst smiled.

“I must leave you now,” he said. “The toad captains shall arrive at any moment now, and I am to see to them.”

“Very well,” said Lady Olivia. “Do be here for the presentation, please. The princess has asked for you to be by her side.”

Ernst nodded.

“It shall be my pleasure,” he said, and gallantly strode off into the mass of people ahead. Olivia gave him a bitter look. Leave it to Ernst to play nice with the child and then leave Olivia alone with her mother.

“It’s good to see you again, daughter,” she said. “It has been quite a while since you’ve been home.”

“Well,” Olivia said, “being the King’s regent is busy work.”

“So I’ve heard. My daughter is the second most powerful newt in the realm, yet it is not within her power to visit her old mother.”

Olivia clenched her jaws.

“These past few years have been… particularly challenging, mother,” she said. “I assume you’ve heard our princess often requires special assistance.”

“So I’ve heard, indeed, and quite lately too. I do wonder what the reason for the delay may be. She is eight, yes? Yet we only learned we have a princess last year. What might be the reason?”

Olivia’s tail swayed back and forth without her meaning to. She willed it to stay still.

“Ah, the princess is rather sickly,” she said. “You may notice we lack a queen, or anyone who may be able to give our king an heir. I’m afraid I do not know the details, but I know she was hatched from genetic engineering using the king’s own DNA. A… clone, of sorts.”

“A clone? And what may that be?” Her mother cocked her head. “Or has the opulence and technology of Newtopia made you forget our House cares little for those matters?”

Olivia exhaled. She gripped one of her gloved hands with the other and straightened her posture.

“A clone is a… genetically constructed copy of an original organism,” she said, not feeling very confident. She was no genetic engineer. “Though our princess is no true clone, you see. DNA from multiple sources was utilized to make her healthy and strong. Otherwise, there would be no way she could be female, because the only source would be male.”

“Your father misses you terribly, Olivia.”

Olivia gulped, then exhaled. She would much rather talk about genetic engineering.

“I miss him too.”

“He’s been waiting for your visit for years, dear.”

“...Like I said, mother…”

“Oh, don’t come at me with excuses now. You know very well how… how…”

The room fell silent as the doors opened one more time, the musicians halting at once, and Lady Scatterfish turned around. Headmaster Ernst was walking alongside a female toad, followed by her entourage of well-clad soldiers and stewards, at least a dozen of them. She wore a clean, dark purple military jacket adorned with many medals and badges, and golden epaulettes broadening her shoulders. A Toad Tower captain. The only one present.

Ernst spoke amicably with her. In the silence, you could almost hear what he was saying from the other end of the throne room. Every house newt eyed the captain nervously, unsure of whether they simply had to wait, if the other captains were just behind her, but the doors closed when the last of her soldiers came in, and that sealed it all for them. Whispers grew among the crowd, and Olivia took the opportunity to sneak away from her mother and scutter to where the band was, and told them to keep playing.

The music resumed, and the whispers died down. She hurriedly went to greet their new honorable guest.

“Captain Beatrix,” she said with a bow. “We are honored to have you among us. The grand city of Newtopia welcomes you with open arms.”

Captain Beatrix narrowed her eyes and barked out a laugh.

“You newts are adorable,” she said. Her gaze softened. “The honor is all mine, my lady.”

Olivia looked to the side, eyeing Ernst in search for help.

“Lady Olivia here is the king’s regent,” he explained to Captain Beatrix.

“The regent? So you must be the one doing all the actual work around here.”

Lady Olivia cleared her throat.

“Headmaster Ernst here will show you around,” she said. “Now that you’ve arrived, I have matters to discuss with the king.”

Captain Beatrix made a dismissive gesture with her large hand.

“Don’t let me bother you any longer,” she said, and she and Olivia exchanged a quick bow before she delved once more into the crowd, careful to avoid her mother, and scurried into a small door on the side of the hall, half-hidden behind the curtains, to climb up a series of narrow spiral stairs and come out of the other end on a large, empty corridor, down which she went towards the royal bedchambers. On the way there, she realized she forgot to make sure the princess went back to her room, and she slapped a hand over her snout. The evening was getting more and more difficult with each passing minute, and they still hadn’t even introduced the princess to the Houses, and that had to go as smoothly as possible, but with the growing uncertainty and tension with the very obvious absence of the other three Toad Captains and the implications of it, she worried it would all explode in the worst possible way. 

She finally made it to the kings’ bedchambers. She could have sent a servant, but she’d rather come deliver the news herself. Large twin doors, at least twelve feet tall, stood in front of her, with a smaller door of normal size carved on the surface of one of them. She smoothed over her skirt and knocked on the wood.

“Oh! Do come in!” Said a voice from inside. Olivia fiddled with the doorknob for just one moment before pushing in and entering. The room inside was almost half as big as the throne room itself, with tall marble pillars in the shapes of curled-up olms and a circular bed big enough for an emperor beetle to sleep in, with sheets of soft cotton and red velvet. All around it, scattered around the floor, were books twice as big as Olivia herself, and sitting on said bed and reading said books were his Majesty, with a small army of servants surrounding him and helping affix his royal armor while he distracted himself with some light reading – a fantasy novella of sorts, the kind that the princess enjoyed. His skin was blue and shiny, and all of his limbs were as thick and strong as trunks, with a tail powerful enough to sink a ship and a muzzle full of teeth sharp like those of a serpent-seal. Atop his long white mane sat the Shark-Tooth Crown itself, inherited from his father, and his father before him. 

He looked up and raised his pink glasses when she came in.

“Lady Olivia! Such a pleasure to see you. Tell me, are the guests having a good time? No one tried to assassinate each other yet?” he asked, but when Olivia opened her mouth to answer, his eyes widened. “Oh! Did you see Marcy, by any chance? Yeah, she went down early to ‘study’ everyone before the presentation. She got nervous and wanted to know what she’d be dealing with.”

“Your Majesty,” said Lady Olivia. So he did know! “I must advise you to remember the princess’ position and the importance of tonight’s ceremony. If anyone happened to see her before we…”

“Oh, calm down, Olivia,” he said, making a dismissive gesture to his servants, who all scattered off and out of the room. He looked at her with small, hard eyes, and for a moment, Olivia remembered how he used to be before the princess came along. A severe, sober leader, one who did not laugh or smile, and who had made Olivia feel so intimidated when she first came to the palace as an eft. Then, he cracked a small smile. “Smart kid, isn’t she? Did you see what she made for the eye contact thing? Oh! I must show you some of her drawings.” He flipped through the pages of the book and found the one he’d been using as a bookmark, as small and impractical as it was. He held it between the tips of his fingers and lowered it so she could see. It showed the princess holding her father’s hand, though the proportions were a bit off (an artistic liberty, Olivia mused, so that they may both fit on the page). It was rather lifelike, she considered, certainly beyond what most eight-year-olds could muster.

“An impressive work, your Majesty,” she said. 

“I know! Right? She’s a great artist, I tell you. I think I have a few more drawings of hers around here, let me see…”

He got up and began to look among his books. Lady Olivia cleared her throat.

“Your Majesty, I must warn you that I bring grave news, I regret that it has to be this way, but three out of the four Toad Captains have not presented themselves to the palace.”

“Those toads, huh? Figures,” he said with his back to her, still looking through his books. “Those… oof! That bunch wasn’t happy after everything that went down with Ragnar, were they?”

“No, they were not. Your Majesty, the implications are clear, and the guests are growing restless. Only the newly-appointed Captain Beatrix of the Western Toad Tower has come to swear fealty to the princess.”

“Of course she has. Everything she has today came from us.” He gave up on his books, and went to search his dresser. “I swear I put them around somewhere…”

“I fear this may be a declaration of war, your Majesty” she said, finally. “The southern, northern and eastern towers suffered no losses during the Sand Wars. They could easily afford to start new rebellions across the continent if we don’t…”

“Aha! Here they are!” The king exclaimed, pulling open a drawer and holding a stack of small papers in the tips of his fingers, his expression full of pride for a moment before it contorted and shifted into something else, as a million different emotions washed over his features. Olivia watched in silence, and then the king sighed, closed his eyes, and gave her that look again, the one with the small hard eyes. “You don’t need to see these,” he said, and then tossed them into the fireplace.

Lady Olivia watched wordlessly as the king let his daughter’s drawings curl and burn in the fire, until they were nothing more than charred little crumples of black paper. 

“Lady Olivia,” his voice boomed. She couldn’t help but shiver from head to toe. “I believe it’s time, don’t you think? I will send a servant to find the princess. You should go join the celebration. Today marks the beginning of a new age for the realm, one that will see prosperity and glory in all its forms; so don’t you worry about the toads. They have no idea of what it’s coming.”

“Sir?”

“Go downstairs, Olivia. I will handle this.”

Lady Olivia gulped, then nodded, and swiftly left the king’s bedchambers and climbed down the stairs back to the throne room, where the crowd seemed to have grown in excitement and distress, because she now heard several heated discussions between members of different Great Houses, and Captain Beatrix seemed to be engaged in a less than friendly debate with a tall pink newt with slicked back blonde hair. Voices rose all around her, and she remembered the princess for a moment, and prayed that the servants would find her soon – or should she go find her herself? She wondered if the child had sensed the tension in the air, if she might be hiding somewhere, or if she was still watching from the same spot where she’d last seen her. Oh, she needed to go check. Her chest felt tense and taut like a bow string, and her legs shook with nervousness as she made her way across the dance floor, peering behind each velvety curtain, looking into each dark corner, around each pillar, not finding a trace of the little princess.

“She’s with her father already. Do not worry,” said a familiar voice behind her. Oh, thank olms.

“Headmaster Ernst,” she said, turning around. She smoothed down her skirt.

“Can you believe I found her hiding under a table? I gave her a light scolding already.” He chuckled. “She’s smart. No one’s seen her so far. I made sure of it.”

“She’s reckless ,” Lady Olivia corrected him. “And her father cannot seem to mind it.”

“I would hope you’re not insulting our king, Lady Olivia.”

“I would never, but as his regent, I would be wise to point out his shortcomings.”

“Ah, I forget, yes. His Majesty is not one to surround himself with yes-men. He was wise to choose you.” The old newt nodded thoughtfully, and turned towards where the throne stood. “I believe we are about to start.”

Slowly, the music died off, and the lights all around the hall grew soft and muted save for the ray of golden sunlight that came from a window above, strategically illuminating the stage before the throne. They had used a series of mirrors to achieve that effect, and now the king stood under the natural light of the sky in his beautiful royal armor, and all arguing and hissing became whispers and mutters, as every house newt, every toad and every member of the Night Guard stood in silence before their king.

“Newts and toads of the Great Houses,” he began. “I would like to thank you all for coming here to my call on this day. I understand the journey has not been easy for many, and for your presence, I am grateful.” He eyed his subjects carefully. “Today marks the beginning of a new age for our realm,” he said. “My daughter, princess Marcy, and my heir and future queen of Amphibia, has recently turned eight years old, and she is ready to meet her subjects in proper. She is my heart’s delight, and she shall be the kingdom’s as well.” He made a pause, and observed his subjects. “Today, the Archmasters of all Great Houses, the Toad Captains and all the generals and headmasters of the great Newtopian army swear fealty to her, and vow to protect her queendom and her birthright when the time comes.” He looked behind. “Now, come, little Marcy. It’s alright.”

Olivia saw her hesitate in the shadows for a moment. Just a nervous, scared child, but then her father offered his huge hand to her, and she held onto his finger with her tiny one, and he led her forward into the light. A wave of gasps and whispers rose among the crowd. She anxiously looked back at her father, who nudged her forward encouragingly.

“Poor child,” mused Ernst, who still stood beside Olivia.

Poor child indeed , thought Olivia. The princess’ appearance was beyond strange: her flat face, her lack of a tail, her dry skin, brown unlike her father’s, and her alien-looking, five-fingered hands. Olivia regretted to think the princess was rather ugly for a newt, though still much more gracious than any toad or frog; even then, she would not wish such an appearance – or such a reaction – on her worst enemy, much less on an innocent child. The newts around her seemed to be having less merciful thoughts, as many turned their snouts and narrowed their eyes at the sight. She heard whispers of confusion and indignation, and saw more than one newt refuse to look at her in disgust. 

Then, one newt came forward. Olivia had seen her before in the crowd. Her skin was pink and her hair blonde, and she was tall and slim and had a long, lithe spotted tail. She wore the plate armor of the Newtopian army, with many insignias dangling from her chest, and from her hip hung a long ceremonial sword. She strode forward into the light without an ounce of doubt or fear or hesitance, and stood before her king and princess with pride. 

She knelt and unsheathed her sword.

“I, General Yunan Longclaw, scourge of the Sand Wars and defeater of Ragnar the Wretched, pledge today my undying loyalty to the princess of Newtopia, princess Marcy Leviathan.” She bowed her head deeply. “Until the day I die, my lady, my sword and claws are yours, to come to your aid in your time of need and raise your banners against your enemies. I will not flinch nor cower from my duty, and I shall live and die to protect your birthright, as the Longclaw name has done for generations.”

No one said a word. Not one voice was heard as Yunan Longclaw spoke, and not one was heard afterwards. It was common knowledge that the Longclaws had lost their titles and holdings in the Mutu Mountains after the disgraced Longclaw seneschal, Kannan Longclaw, abandoned his post during the recent war. And this, Yunan Longclaw, was his daughter. 

Olivia saw the princess gulp nervously.

“Oh! Um… Please, general, stand,” she said, and Yunan Longclaw obeyed and rose to her feet. “Um…” She looked up at her father, who smiled at her. ‘Just like we practiced,’ he mouthed. Princess Marcy faced Yunan Longclaw again. “I heard of your many victories during the war,” she began. “I want to thank you in the name of the crown for defending the sovereignty of my house in the face of the toad rebellions.” She breathed shakily and spoke rapidly. “...You have been offered a royal pardon after your father’s treason and a position as general in the Newtopian army. Now, I must ask you, do you vow to defend House Leviathan against all enemies of the crown, not as chevalier of House Longclaw as you previously were, but as a general in the great Newtopian army in service to my family?”

Yunan bowed deeply.

“I vow myself entirely to House Leviathan, now and forever.”

Whispers rose again, and when Yunan Longclaw receded into the crowd, more newts came forward. Archmasters of all eleven great houses fell to their knees before their princess, and swore themselves to her as their one and future queen. Even Captain Beatrix lowered her head and knelt humbly before the Leviathan throne without shame, and unlike her toad comrades halfway across the world, she spoke the words that would bind her destiny to the Leviathans forever.

“My axe and claws are yours. To this day, and until the day I die.”

Princess Marcy smiled, as if the toad’s bulbous eyes had any love for her, and as if she were safe and sound and surrounded by people who cared about her happiness. She watched, now with Olivia by her side, as the music returned, as did the dancing and the food and the talking and chattering, and the throne room was imbued with life once again. Her father ruffled her hair with the giant pad of his forefinger, and with a “well done, kiddo,” her face lit up with confidence and pride, and she stood a little straighter, a little taller, ready to face this brave new world she was now joining and anything it had in store for her.

Then a small newt – Bartley Brimstone, one of the royal technicians – burst through the main doors and shouted:

“Fire! Fire!”

Olivia felt her stomach sink, and the many newts and toads present began to grow restless again, their voices growing alarmingly as they tried to find a way out. Through the doors came a hot red light that danced in the depths of the castle, blocking the main exit. Next to her, the princess tensed up. She looked at her father.

“Dad?”

The king glared at the doors, and he stood from his throne and roared:

“General Yunan! Gather the guards! Branson, Blair, get everyone out of here! And you,” he looked at Olivia, and at Ernst next to her. “Get the princess to safety. Now!”

Olivia took the princess’ hand.

“Come now, princess, come.”

The princess inhaled sharply and she clung to her father’s sleeve, burying her face in the back of his hand. The flames licked at the doors. 

“Marcy…”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can, kiddo. Now, go.”

“I…”

“Your highness, we don’t have much time,” intervened Ernst. “We must move quickly.”

“Follow them and you’ll be fine.” He raised her chin with his gigantic finger. “I promise.”

The princess trembled from head to toe, but she nodded obediently, and held tightly onto Olivia’s hand as she yanked her away and guided her into a secret passageway behind a curtain. Ernst held up a coral-torch behind them, its soft pink light glistening on the old mossy stones.

“This fire is not accidental,” he said with a grave voice as they climbed up a spiral staircase.

Olivia gulped. That’s what she’d been thinking. 

The princess was uncharacteristically silent, wrapped uncomfortably around Olivia’s arm as they walked. 

They found an exit to the large hallway that led to the princess’ bedchambers, its long maroon rug stretching from one end to the other and its stained glass windows casting its shadows on the marble walls. Olivia tightened her grip around the princess’ hand.

“But what is the purpose? Who would even dare…?” She shook her head. “Never mind that. We must make it to her bedchambers. They are well-protected and as far from the fire as…”

There was something. In the corners. The darkness hid it. All the torches were snuffed out, and there were no guards around. Her heart quickened. She heard a hiss and a rattle, and the door closest to them burst open with a sudden splatter of fire. She and the princess stood in one end and Ernst in the other, and from the shadows emerged an orange newt in a dark cloak and a golden mask to grab him by his cape and put a dagger to his throat. The fire spread quickly around them.

“Enrst!” She cried.

“You heard what we all heard, did you know?” The orange newt panted. “The king’s heir. He admitted to his own mortality. And if he can die, so can she, and so can the Night.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes and shook her head. 

“Ernst!” She called again. The newt pressed the dagger tightly against his throat. 

“I’m fine! I’m…”

“No, you’re not!” Hissed the newt. “The princess. Look at her. Do you know why she’s scared of fire, lady Olivia?”

“Scared of…” She looked at the princess, who stood heaving now behind her, eyes wide, staring at the growing flames.

“Ask her. Ask her about it.”

“Let him go, you coward!”

“Cooperate with us, lady Olivia. We are many and we are everywhere. House Dawnblood has waited for a long time.”

“House Dawnblood is extinct!” She countered. The newt pointed his snout at the princess.

“We wouldn’t want anything bad happening to our princess, now, would we? Bring her. Now.” He pressed the dagger into Ernst’s neck, drawing blood. Ernst grunted. “You think I’m bartering, do you not? You think I’m offering his life for the child? How stupid do you think I am to believe he’s worth more than her? This is simple, Lady Olivia. Give us the child willingly and only he has to die.”

“Don’t…” Ernst muttered. The fire spread around them, the heat growing. Smoke gathered above, and Olivia’s lungs burned, and she felt light-headed.

“The fire is growing, lady Olivia, and the child is scared. Come now, Marcy. Don’t you want to see your friends again?”

The princess shook her head.

“I…”

Ernst growled and kicked his assailant back, but then the princess cried out, and maybe it distracted him, or maybe he was weak from the smoke and heat, because the other newt was quicker, and in a flash he’d dug the dagger to the hilt in his side. He twisted the knife, and Ernst cried out.

“Enrst!” Olivia shouted. Marcy whimpered behind her.

“She can’t run from us forever,” the masked newt hissed. “We are the only ones who know the truth. We are where she belongs.”

And he pushed Ernst back and his body slid down the blade until he dropped into the fire, and the sparks blew up like fireworks. Marcy screamed.

Olivia heard nothing. She just grabbed the princess’ hand and ran.

She scurried down the hall dragging her painfully behind as she sobbed raggedly, her hand gripping her wrist so tightly, as the orange newt yelled from beyond the fire:

“You can’t run from us, Lady Olivia! You can’t keep her forever!”

“Come, Marcy, quickly!”

She turned around the hall and ran as far from the fire as possible, tripping over her feet and quickly getting back up, the orange newt hissing somewhere behind them. She saw more shadows in the corners, and she palmed around a familiar large banner looking for a lever, a button or something, anything to help her escape, but her lungs burned, and she heard the princess coughing painfully behind her, and her blood ran cold with fear as she trembled so much she could barely walk at all. 

She heard heavy boots fall behind her, and she turned around, quickly putting herself between the orange newt and the princess. Behind him stood his companions, more newts and axolotls, all wearing the same golden, serpentine looking masks and dawk cowls.

“There’s no escaping us, Lady Olivia,” said the newt. “Give her to – agk!”

Two long metal claws protruded from his chest.

“You don’t speak to a lady like that,” said a familiar voice, and the claws retracted, the orange newt falling dead to the floor. Olivia covered Marcy’s eyes and hugged her close, cowering into the wall together.

The blonde pink newt held her claws up high. She faced her many opponents.

“Were you trying something?” Yunan Longclaw asked. 

Two newts charged at once with daggers, a third one circling Yunan from behind, but they were no match for her: she brandished her long metal claws like they were an extension of her. Olivia saw through half-closed eyes as she slashed throats and opened faces in half, lower jaws falling dislocated from their sockets as newt and axolotl alike choked in their own blood, and finally Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and held Marcy’s head tight against her chest as the sound of carnage surrounded them. She hummed something –  some song, anything her mind could come up with to drown out the screams, and barely noticed when it was over, and when an armored hand touched her shoulder, she violently swatted it away.

“Don’t touch us!” She cried. Yunan Longclaw gulped and stepped back.

“M-my apologies, my lady. I merely intended to reassure myself of your and the princess’ well-being.”

Olivia still trembled like a leaf, but she tried to steel herself as she looked around, saw the sticky, bloody bodies lying silently on the ground, and slowly loosened her grip around Marcy.

“Your highness, please keep your eyes closed,” she said. Marcy didn’t seem to have heard her, just further burying her warm face into Olivia’ cold chest, but at least she did not open her eyes.

Yunan Longlcaw cleared her throat.

“Is she…?”

“She’s unharmed,” informed lady Olivia. She tightened her grip around a fistful of the princess’ dress. “We must get her to her father at once.”

“The palace is being cleared, my lady. My soldiers are searching for any remaining assassins and servants are putting out the fire as we speak.”

Olivia swallowed.

“Good. Good. Do you know where the king is?”

“He said to take the princess to her bedchambers, and for her to…” She narrowed her eyes in confusion. “‘Meet him downstairs.’ Do you have any idea what that means?”

Marcy groaned and shook herself from Olivia’s embrace.

“I can do it,” she said. “I… I know I can, I just need to…” She stood up shakily, her legs trembling like those of a baby stick bug. Olivia eyed her carefully.

“Princess Marcy?”

“Just… Just let me go to my bedroom. I’ll…” She fell a little bit to the side before catching herself. “I’m feeling dizzy…”

“We’ll take you to your rooms, princess Marcy,” said Lady Olivia. She exchanged a concerned look with General Yunan. “You said it’s safe?”

“We’re clearing the castle, but the king said to send her downstairs as soon as possible.”

Lady Olivia nodded. She was the king’s regent, and she was not one to disobey a direct order. She placed a hand on the princess’ back and gently guided her down the hall, away from where the fire was, and towards her bedchambers. She dared not ask, she dared not intrude in the Leviathans’ secrets, their codes or their private business. She did not ask what ‘downstairs’ meant, or why they weren’t allowed to bring Marcy down there safely themselves. When Lady Olivia accepted her role as the king’s regent, she knew it came with a tacit agreement to not ask too many questions, and with the princess’ coming, she knew whatever the child was privy to was beyond her reach.

So they lead her silently to her rooms, and on the way, Lady Olivia saw more darkly-clad bodies, and soldiers deposing of them as servants splashed buckets of water over the last remnants of the dying fire. Princess Marcy walked with a trembling pace all the way through in deadly silence. When they finally reached her bedchambers, it was dark and cold and the curtains and tapestries that hung from the walls of the hall were charred from the fire, but the hallway was otherwise standing, and the princess’ door was untouched.

Yunan Longlclaw opened the door for the girl, and stood gallantly to the side as Marcy stepped inside.

“I…” she stammered. “I…”

“Are you alright, your highness?” asked Yunan Longclaw.

“I’m sorry.”

Lady Olivia frowned, She tilted her head.

“Marcy? What are you sorry for? You did nothing wrong.”

“I… I don’t know.” She shook her head violently. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I just… I don’t…”

“Hey, hey.” Lady Olivia grasped her hands. The poor girl was heaving. “It is I who should be sorry. I did not know you were afraid of fire. And I’m sorry you had to see so much ugliness today. You are much to young to witness such things.”

“I… I’m…?” Her shoulders sagged. “Oh.”

“I shall stand guard outside your door myself, your Highness,” declared General Yunan. “No harm will come to you for as long as I am here.”

Marcy nodded absently, her gaze lost somewhere near the floor. Olivia felt her heart seize. She looked at Marcy for a long moment, and she wanted to hold her face in her hands and wipe her tears away so badly, but she dare not cross a line like that. Instead, she squeezed the princess’ hands one last time, and then let go, and bowed to her princess and said:

“Goodnight, your Highness. Do not hesitate to knock on my door if you need anything.”

Marcy nodded again, lost in her own mind. Olivia sighed. She turned to Yunan Longclaw.

“I shall watch over her,” said Yunan, without needing to be asked.

“Thank you,” Olivia said. She offered her a bow, to which Yunan answered with one of her own, before giving Marcy one last look and walking away, off to find out about their guests’ whereabouts and situation, to reassure them, and to inform the Night Guard of their leader’s death.