The Misadventures of a Frog-faced Wizard

Getting Used to my Frog Legs

We spent a little while together after that. Me and the other two frogs. I cannot say with any confidence whether it was a few days or a few weeks, but one way or another, we kept each other company. There were times, I think, where communication broke down; none of us could understand the guttural croaks and ribbits from the other two and there were times when I couldn't myself understand what message I was trying to convey. I had to concentrate on not losing myself completely in the frog form, for fear that when I was returned to my normal state I would not remember who I was. I ran the very real risk of losing my sanity and becoming on the inside what I was on the out.

Oh yes! And that's the other thing! Days passed, and contrary to what I understood of the spell, we did not revert to our original forms. It seemed that we were frogs indefinitely. I'd have been awestruck by the power that the cloaked figure from the heist possessed, were I not so completely undertaken with the task of keeping myself and my friends alive. I say my friends, I had no idea which of my original gang these two frogs were, I only knew that one had escaped while they still could, one had been killed on the scene, and the three of us had survived albeit in a much-weakened state.

Immediately we were confronted with many a curious and unsavoury aspect of the permanent polymorph. To begin with (because it sticks out the most clearly in my mind) our appetites changed. I cannot tell whether it was animal instinct alone that kicked in or if it was a decisive act on my own part, but I began to hunt for insects that made themselves busy in the warm summer air by the night of the riverside. I would lunge out with my tongue, now easily twice the length of my body if not more and snare a fly or gnat on the end of it before reeling it in in the blink of an eye and swallowing it. I did say it was unsavoury. But the longer I think about it, while revolted now that I am back onto normal-sized portions of normal person food, I can't help but remember how good it felt to have my small body nourished by those writhing creatures after having spent the day famished. Proportionally, it only took a few of these grubs to constitute a hearty meal that tasted to me like the most succulent dish imaginable, and which filled my rumbling belly like you wouldn't believe. In short, it was gross, but it was good.

It was at some point, at least a few days after our escape, that I stumbled upon a little miracle in the undergrowth by the river. While on one such hunt for the blessed grubs, the blue legged strawberry frog and I (I later looked up our species') happened upon a small shard of mirror, broken away from what seemed like a vanity looking glass that mightn't have been out of place in an aristocrats handbag. It was smudged with dirt and after devouring a few of the worms that wriggled around it, we wiped it clean and surveyed ourselves. It was the first time seeing myself in my cursed form and my heart broke to see it. Only then, on the third or fourth day since my transformation did the gravity of the situation hit me. I was around the same size and shape as my counterpart but with lime green skin all over my body apart from my limbs which were all tinged with blue stripes. My hands, as mentioned before, were a golden brown, and my eyes were bright red. No white remained in them, they were red through and through besides the pupil which remained black, the singular aspect of my former character which I was able to retain in my new form. I took solace in the blackness of my pupils but not enough to speak of. Not enough to take the sting away from all that had changed.

Regrettably, we weren't able to inform our wart-covered counterpart of our discovery before they died. We hopped back to the spit of land that we had allocated as our nest for the evening high spirited, or at least high enough for two rogues cursed as we were and found the poor creature in a compromising position. They had been wallowing in the shallow part of the water beyond our little halfway house and had perhaps not heard our approach when, suddenly, a large bird swooped down and heaved them from the ground carrying them away into the sky. I say large, it was perhaps twice the size of my friend and, evidently, not strong enough to carry them all the way to its nest. It dropped them. It dropped them on the grassy plains beneath and then swooped down again, electing to devour its feast there and then rather than back at its nest. We looked on in horror as our companion croaked out in pain, but there was nothing to be done. What could we have done? So, we turned away and hopped to a more secluded area of woodland hoping that the same fate would not befall us.

Fortunately for us, it began to rain as night set in. It was one of those warm summer rains that one doesn't mind getting caught in, the kind that a frog delights in. It nourished our skin as we hopped through the moist earth towards safety, and I think it's fair to say we would have felt very good were it not for the frightened cries of our fallen that still rung in our ears. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not sure that frogs have ears.

Yes, I just stepped away for a moment to look in the mirror and I can confirm we do have ears, but they are not ear-shaped. Our ears are basically like an external eardrum, like a large round node or dome on either side of the head that can pick up sound, but from which glassed can't hang. Ha! "We", "our", look at me. I'm treating it like a part of myself now rather than something I was cursed with. Then again, maybe that's the right way to treat it... Is there any right way to treat it? Who's to say? Ah, I'm rambling.

It was probably a week or so hence that I lost contact with my sole surviving ally. We were relaxing as best we could in the woodland when the rain stopped, and in need of water as well as air, we followed our instincts and headed forward, further into the forest. I don't know what this sixth sense we had obtained was, but it was to us a blessing within the curse; a silver lining on the backside of an otherwise very dark cloud, for it saw us to safety. After a few hours of transit, we found our way to a large pond surrounded by what I believe were pine trees in which we could bathe. It was delightful there. We swam beneath the surface and found fresh bedding in which to rest; moss and weed and water plants that were to us as comfy as a four-poster bed. At the surface of the water were little bugs that skimmed on it as though it were dry land, too light to sink below the surface of the water, too small to penetrate it and beyond them, flying higher, were dragonflies. We were sated.

We stayed in this pond for the rest of the night, and it must have been larger than we'd believed it to be because it wasn't until the following morning that we made the acquaintance of an army of frogs that were the same size, shape and colour as my friend. Their numbers were perhaps a hundred or so strong, each member with blackened eyes, reddened skin and blue-ened legs. The timbre of the croak with which my friend sang was in tune with their own whereas mine was slightly different somehow. They noticed this.

The army accepted my friend with army is the name for a group of frogs, by the way, I learnt this later on as well. The army accepted my friend with open arms and the bunch of us swam together for a time before I broke away, feeling as outcast with them as I did amongst the townsfolk where I grew up for the differences between me and them. I sat at the side of the pond as the sun went down once more and realised, with dawning horror, that I had no way to discern my comrade from the identical swarm in which they were now a part. I resolved, instead of searching for them, to wait at the side of the pond for them to approach me. They never came. In the beginning, it was difficult not to take this as a personal thing, but after time I decided that the red frog with whom I arrived was no longer the same rogue I had begun my adventure with. Unlike myself, this frog had really become a frog, had given up fighting to remain sapient and had rejoiced in the fellowship of frogs that were simply that, just frogs. In a manner of speaking, I was happy for them. Ignorance is bliss after all, and I had to imagine that over time, the memories of who they once were would slip away and they would no longer fear for their life, nor lust for the life they once lived, but would instead be content in their humble surroundings in the company of likeminded folk. Not me though. As I sat in contemplation over the fate of my fellowship, I resolved to not give up on the fight and to become myself again through whatever means necessary.

I waited for another few days before heading off. Every time the red army passed me by it broke me a little more inside.