Marcyn sat beside the shimmering pool, trying to ignore the laughs and jeers being directed at him by the other frogs.
The day was hot, the sun blinding in its intensity, and he ran a trembling paw over his head, spreading what little dampness there was over his eyes.
Marcyn was incandescent with anger.
“You may laugh,” he shouted, “but it is I who’ll have the last laugh when I become King and fill in this putrid pond.”
The laughs and jeers grew louder - the frogs gathered on the lily pads rolling about, hooting with mirth, holding their fat little bellies with their fat little feet.
“You’ll see, you’ll see,” Marcyn screamed at them, turning his back and hopping off in a huff.
One of the bigger frogs laughed so loud at this, that he fell off his lily pad and into the pond with a resounding splash.
* * *
“And where might you be going, my fine fat friend?”
Marcyn jumped, turning to look at the large adder watching him from the tall grass.
“Away from those cretins back there!” he answered, eyes still bulging in anger.
“Your friends have upset you?”
Coming under the spell of the snake’s sibilant speech pattern - the long drawn out S’s tingling his ears - Marcyn stuck out a petulant lower lip.
“What do they know about becoming a King?” he asked. “All they think about is sex, sex, sex.”
“Well then, it is fortuitous indeed that we have met. For I can help you on your quest.”
While speaking, the snake had been lightly stroking Marcyn under the chin with the tip of his tail, his yellow eyes growing bigger and bigger.
“You can?” asked Marcyn, all aquiver.
“Indeed I can. Come with me my fine fat frog.”
So saying , the snake wrapped Marcyn in its tail and slid off along the path at great speed.
“But - but where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to become a King. Yes-s-s-s indeedy.”
* * *
As the snake carried him to his destiny, Marcyn day-dreamed about his future. He would become the most powerful frog in Mizzletop and his name would be on every creature’s lips. Ha, he’d teach those feckless frogs back at the pond to upset him like that. He would show no mercy. There would be no more laughing, and no more hurtful remarks about how ugly his spawn had been.
Born aloft by the adder, Marcyn continued his dreams of power and prosperity, in his mind’s eye burying his enemies up to their necks in the mud, then jumping up and down on their heads.
His smile was broad and egoistical.
After all, he was off to become a King.
* * *
The wizard looked down at the snake, hands on hips.
“He wants to be a King,” the snake said, waving Marcyn back and forth in his coiled tail.
“Does he indeed?”
“You said, if I brought you a frog, you wouldn’t use me in any more of your spells,” the snake continued, waving Marcyn back-and-forth again. “If you chop any more of my tail off, I won’t have any left.”
“Did I, indeed?”
“This is a frog,” said the snake, dropping Marcyn on the floor.
By now, Marcyn was so dizzy that he could barely stand up.
The Wizard bent over, studying him intently. Finally he prodded Marcyn with a gnarled finger.
“It is indeed a frog,” he said.
The snake hissed his agreement and slithered out the door.
“So you want to become a King?” the Wizard asked, still looming over Marcyn, his long dirty beard shedding pieces of the pie he’d eaten for lunch.
Marcyn just nodded, far too dizzy to speak.
“Well hop up here and I’ll see what I can do,” the Wizard said, holding out his hand.
Marcyn hopped on and was born aloft, to be placed on a scarred wooden bench top amongst a collection of glass containers and clay pots. The Wizard’s hand smelt of herbs and dank forests.
Marcyn jumped when a big thick book slammed down next to him.
“Hm, now let’s see,” the Wizard said, running a finger down the page. “I think I have all these ingredients. Yes, I should be able to make you a King with no trouble at all.”
Marcyn perked up at this information and stood eagerly by watching his new friend pouring various potions into a large iron pot. As he worked the Wizard hummed, pushing his pointy, star covered black hat back in place whenever it fell forward over his eyes.
The Wizard, lost in his work, hadn’t noticed that Marcyn had crept into a nearby box for a sleep. The journey had tired him out and the Wizard was taking such a long time.
“Let’s see then. What’s this last item?” the Wizard muttered.
Still busy reading the instructions, the Wizard grabbed Marcyn out of the box and plucked out one of his eyes, dropping it into the pot.
“There it is then. Eye of frog. Last item. All done.”
Marcyn stood still for a moment, too astonished to react. Then he shrugged and hopped his way over to the pot.
“Oh well,” he thought. “It could be worse. After all, in the Land of the Blind, the one-eyed frog is King.”
Now all he had to do was discover where the Land of the Blind Frogs might be!