Page 7 of The Frog Prince

He stopped between two harrowingly tall trees, their branches heavy with thick leaves, bent and looming like long, spindlyfingers reaching for him. Otto felt seconds away from being grabbed by something he had no chance of fighting off, despite his stature. His size didn’t matter here. He was a speck in the eyes of the gargantuan trees.

He looked around, wide chest heaving with exhaustion and anxiety under his dirty blue shirt and threadbare cloak. It looked like every other part of the forest he had trailed through. Nothing differentiated this particular stretch of it. It was just as dark. Just as foreboding. Just as menacing as every other one.

Otto felt his throat constrict in panic.

Had he already been here? The rotten, disintegrated leaves on the ground looked familiar, didn’t they? Was this even the right way? Was there a right way? If he gave up now, would he know how to get back? Could he turn back without giving his all to find what he was looking for?

This wasn’t the plan.

It wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to lose hope without ever truly finding it.

He leaned his back against one of the trunks, palms on his knees as he tried to even out his breaths. He blinked against dark spots dancing in his vision, trying to remember what he knew. Trying to recall the things he had heard before. Directions. Instructions.

The stories varied.

Deep in the forest near a large boulder that cut the stream in half.

Just on the outskirts of the forest, near a small marsh.

Not even in this specific forest, but one in a kingdom far away.

He didn’t know what the truth was. He didn’t know who to trust. And after days of eating scraps, sleeping just enough not to keel over and being in a constant state of petrifying fear, he didn’t think he had the capacity to think properly anymore. His thoughts were coming in scattered images. Nothing wasconnecting as it was supposed to. None of it felt like part of a bigger picture that would help him find what he needed.

He only had fragments and a desperate need to make them fit.

It had to work. He had to try.

He pushed himself away from the trunk and trudged forward, noticing the ground beneath his feet turning softer. Mushier. Sucking at the worn-out soles of his boots with every step before releasing them with a wet sound.

He pressed on doggedly. The trees around him gave way to gnarled bushes, the twisted branches swiping at his feet as if alive.

He fought his way through a thick bush that grew in the middle of the flooded path he was taking, water sloshing into his boots and licking at his ankles. He hacked away at the bush with a small knife until he could pass. The branches were left naked in his wake, piles of spiky leaves floating in the muddy puddles.

He was about to step over the mangled bush and continue on his way when one of the piles shifted. A few leaves fluttered from the top of it, revealing two bulging black eyes framed by red circles staring at him.

A frog.

He paused for a moment, crouching down to move the sticky leaves away from the creature. The head and the top of its small orange-speckled body were poking through the shallow water, front legs kicking wildly, but the frog wasn’t moving.

Otto frowned, reaching beneath the water, shivering at the feeling of slimy, decomposing foliage slipping between his fingers as he searched for whatever was trapping the frog.

He touched along the bottom slowly, finally locating the frog’s hind leg caught beneath a rather large stone.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Otto said, fingers making contact with the frog’s body.

It flinched slightly away, but allowed him to grip the rock between his fingers and move it gently off its leg. The frog floated up and gripped Otto’s pant leg with its front legs, hefting itself out of the murky water. The injured leg dangled beneath it.

Otto gritted his teeth at the sight.

The frog tried to wiggle farther up his body, but it was in obvious pain as it gave up and remained dangling from his clothes, small chest heaving. Giving in to the pain. Looking at him almost pleadingly.

Otto had to go.

He didn’t have the time to do this.

But he could hear the sounds of animals all around him. He could hear them circling, stalking. Not them, specifically. Not at the moment. But how long would it be before the tiny frog became prey? How long until something stronger and faster came and snatched it away? How long before his help was rendered useless?

The healer in him screamed at the mere thought of letting a living thing hurt without even trying to help.