CHAPTER ONE

The Reeds

He lunged into the air above the old, rotting stump, grabbing a fly in mid-flight with eyes rolling back into a lumpy, brown head as his leathery underbelly bounced back down against the moldy rings. 

    “They don’t fly fast enough or high enough to get away from Toady, Toady got the touch, by gomp,” said the amphibian.

    Another insect took up orbit around the remnant of the once proud oak tree. Not surrendering a move or gesture that would give his presence away, the toad kept perfectly still with eyes locked forward. The newcomer buzzed in wide circles at first. Then, with ever tightening orbits, flew closer and closer until Toady was able to repeat his favorite pastime: grabbing a flying creature in its entirety, gulping it to the back of his throat with lightning speed, then swallowing it down into his portly belly. There were times, though, especially when he had an audience, when Toady would flaunt his deadly accuracy by grabbing a leg or a wing and finishing with a double snap of his jaws to subdue his food in a showman-like manner. However, he would not dare to try his game on a dragonfly, for dragonflies had very quick reflexes and could turn in an instant to bite the sensitive skin on the end of his nose. Nor would he kill needlessly; this was the law that all creatures of the woods knew and respected. To take another life without necessity was an unthinkable, horrible thing that would reduce a creature of nature to being, well, human.

    A large June bug took up flight around Toady’s home and with a blatant display of suicidal aerobatics buzzed in circles about the stump. 

    “Tasty june bug fat and sweet,” he murmured. 

    “Toady, hey, Toady, are you up there?” said a voice at the base of the stump.  

    The toad held fast to his concentration, locked steady on the hopeful continuation of his morning meal. 

    “Hey Toady, hey Toady.”  

    Toady’s lips squeezed together tightly and his eyes narrowed to slits. The June bug, which was to be the next course, retreated, flying high into the trees. 

“Toady, hey, Toady, hey, are you there?” came the voice again. 

    Toady begrudgingly waddled to the edge of the stump, a place where he felt safe towering over his world of grass, mushrooms and forest trails. 

    Down below a pair of small, brown eyes atop a furry white head were staring up toward the fat, little silhouette. At that moment the morning sun emerged from behind a passing cloud and broke through an opening in the canopy of the forest high above. A yellow light beam of unusual brightness was fractured by the leafy branches and fell into shafts forming a golden fan that appeared to be showering the clearing in a mist of dandelion seed, pollen and weed dust. The shimmering veil covered them with warmth. Both creatures looked up at the conjuration of nature’s beauty. Even the ends of Toady’s typically expressionless mouth curled up at the sight, and with a sighing exhale he acknowledged the moment briefly then continued glaring down at the intruder. 

Like a wart-laden Captain Bligh commanding all he could survey, Toady stood near the edge of his rotting oak deck, yelling down his discontentment.  

    “I was doing good until you showed up,” he said, wrinkling the skin on his face and looking longingly skyward at the June bug, noting its progress as it cleared the trees and headed for the fields beyond. “Don’t get many junies back here. What do ya wants anyway?” 

Ryefield, for that was the intruder’s name, had been passing by on his way home from his nightly rounds. He stood upon his skinny hind legs with forepaws stretched skyward on the side of the stump, staring up at the toad’s lumpy features. From Toady’s vantage point Ryefield, with his entire body hidden below his head, looked like a pair of arms and a face floating in space.

    Toady could not see the long, slender body of the young opossum, only his yellow, pointy teeth, snow white whiskers and pink, file-like tail that curled and uncurled as the opossum spoke.

“Strange, a moment ago I was thinking that I would just stop by to say hello but suddenly I’ve got an urge to enjoy some of this beautiful day before I hole up. I feel like going to the reeds. Do you wish to come along Toady?” hollered up Ryefield. 

    “You know the water toads don’t like me there.”  The toad scratched his face with the heel of his webbed hand and looked away. 

    “Don’t worry, you can ride on my back. You won’t be bothered by your slimy cousins that way.” 

    Toady leaned his head back, up and side to side examining the insect-free air above him. 

    “Nuttin’s buzzin’, round here, by gomp.  OK, rat, only if Toady rides, only if Toady rides,” he said as if stating the terms of a surrender. 

“I told you before, I am an opossum, not a rat.” Ryefield pulled his jaw muscles tight and shoveled his yellow eyebrows toward his snowy colored snout. 

    “Toady don’t know that word for nuttin’. Who ever heard of an opossum anyways?” The toad cocked his head to one side in contemplation.  “OK then, big white opossum rat,” conceded the bug catcher. 

For in the mind of the small amphibian all creatures had to fall into one of four categories. And although all manner of creature roamed the forest, to the toad they were either of the land, the water, the trees or the air. If a creature was of the land then for Toady it undoubtedly had to be a rat regardless of its size or color. If a creature was from the trees it was most definitely a squirrel. If from the sacred water it had to be without a doubt a toad, and from the air, well, only birds and food could fly, so if it was too big to fit in Toady’s mouth then a bird it must be.

    The opossum sat back on his rump with his front legs still stretched up the side of the stump, looking up at the toad who continued to examine the air for insects.

    Ryefield shook his head and got back on all fours. With a final effort he turned his back to the stump and called to the toad. 

    “Come on then if you’re going to go. I don’t have all morning!” 

    The toad moved to the very edge of the stump until the front webs of his back feet hung over the side. 

    “To the reeds!” cried Toady. The amphibian leaped into the air with his hands and legs outstretched. Correcting in mid-flight with jerking movements of his arms, he landed squarely on the shoulders of Ryefield. The toad held the yellow-white mane of his steed tightly with both hands and the opossum adjusted to the weight. With a final gomp gomp the two headed down the grassy forest trail toward the farmer’s pond. The waddling, skinny haunches of the opossum and the bouncing bony rear end of the toad proclaimed their departure.

    The day was the envy of all days so far that year. A dark-blue sky laced with puffy clouds cast shadows over the land as the pair made its way toward the place of the green reeds. Tall grass, heavy with seed, lined both sides of the forest trail. The full shafts hung low over the path from the weight. As Ryefield trotted forward, the tops of the grass hit Toady’s face, sending a shower of seeds and dust over both of them. The coarse powder caused the opossum to sneeze and the toad’s skin to itch. Toady wiggled from side to side and scratched himself. The opossum sneezed repeatedly while shifting his shoulders to reposition the weight of the squirming toad. As they drew within sight of the forest’s edge a noise came from high in the branches of a tall beech tree. “Errrrrr. Errrrrr. Errrrrrr.”

    The two paused in their tracks. Very slowly and cautiously they looked up to locate the origin of the call. 

    “I see you but you can’t see me, rrrrr,” it cried. 

    The opossum and the toad continued to scan nervously the upper branches of the forest. A minute passed, then a sense of horror began to rise in the toad, who had a great fear of being snatched in mid-hop and dismembered alive by the razor talons of a predator bird. As far as Toady was concerned this unspeakable nightmare was second in its horror only to being caught and torn to pieces by the farmer’s dogs. Ryefield did not move a muscle, for he knew that if it was a hawk any motion at all could bring the beastly bird down upon them. 

The opossum whispered to the quivering toad, “Stop moving. You’ll bring the hawk creature down on us for sure.” 

This made Toady shake even more, and the grass seed dust still sticking to the toad’s muzzle shifted, causing the small amphibian to sneeze. 

    “Ah-ah-ah chew!” The trumpeting sneeze exploded from the frightened toad so unexpectedly that it caused Ryefield to jump ahead five paces. 

    Without warning, there was a swoosh in the air behind them. Toady screamed at the top of his lungs. Upon hearing the rush of feathers in the air and shrill cry from the toad, the opossum’s heart pounded and his legs took over. A mad scramble by the opossum for the cover of the brush ensued, causing the toad to put a vise-like grip on the neck of the opossum. Ryefield began to wheeze and hiss. 

    “An evil bird-hawk!” cried Toady. “We’ll be eaten alive!” 

    Ryefield found it difficult to breathe under the lunatic’s grip of the frightened toad. 

    “Let go, you idiot. I can’t breathe,” hissed the opossum.

    Toady eased up on Ryefield’s neck as they peered out through the underbrush, attempting to get a look at their attacker. All they could see was a dark shadow quickly followed by another swoosh that parted the bush and grass above their heads. 

    “EEEEh, EEEEh!” cried Toady as he fell to the ground beside the already flattened Ryefield, who was trying to become as low as the earth around him. 

    “Caw, caw, caw, you silly pair!” said a voice from the trail just outside of the bush in which they were hiding. “It’s only         Darkwing, your friend. Good joke, no? Come, come out,” said the voice. 

    Ryefield sat up first, spitting the grass and dirt from his mouth then mumbled in disgust as he recognized the voice of the raven. Toady, still prone and slightly dazed, had not yet recovered from the shock of the mock attack. 

    “Ryefield my friend, what’s wrong with the land frog?” said Darkwing as she stabbed her long, black beak into the thicket. 

    Ryefield glared with caustic intensity upon the jet black, oily shine of the raven.

    “Do you realize what you just did? Do you have any idea how bad you scared my friend?” replied Ryefield knowing full well the answer, judging from the dampness he felt between his shoulder blades. 

    “If I get warts it will be entirely your fault, you stupid bird,” continued Ryefield as the embarrassment of the situation began to blush the exposed skin around his muzzle and eyes. 

    Toady finally began to shake off his stupor, and upon pulling himself to his webbed feet suddenly grasped the trick played by the bird. Regaining his composure he strutted toward the raven, locking eyes with her while at the same time addressing the opossum. 

    “Are you OK, Ryefield?” asked the toad as he jabbed his webbed fingers at the raven. “You’re mean. You know how scared Ryefield was?” exclaimed Toady in his deepest chastising voice. “Well, it was all I could do to calm him down, gomp-hiccup-gomp,” finished Toady, continuing to glare at Darkwing with a well practiced, hailstone gaze. 

    “Only having fun, caw, yea only having fun,” said the raven. The dark bird whipped her beak back and forth between the two dirt-covered victims of her prank. “Ha, ha. You two looked more scared than a baby worm in the summer sun. Ha ha ha, cawwwwww.” 

    Ryefield saw no point in continuing the conversation. After all, the damage was done and the day was waiting. However, his early morning colleague would not let the raven off so easy. So, with his hands behind his back, Toady strutted back and forth between Ryefield and Darkwing, insisting that he was as strong and fearless as any creature in the woods. Darkwing only laughed a bit louder with each claim that Toady made until eventually the toad gave up with a mumble and remounted his steed.

    Toady was now at eye level with the raven, whose dark black feathers glowed in the sun with an oily iridescence. 

“I know, you’re going to the reeds by the farmer-human’s pond,” said Darkwing, fidgeting from side to side while waiting an invitation to join them. No such offer came, however, and Ryefield, pushed by the raven, landed back onto the trail. 

“Wait just a minute. Can your friend Darkwing go then?” pleaded the bird. 

    The ruffled opossum turned slowly toward the raven and exhaled. Toady’s mouth rested flat upon the top of Ryefield’s head, making the two resemble an animated pagan totem, with the toad’s eyes darting left, right and up, scanning the area just in case there actually was a hawk about.

    “What do you, say Toady?” The opossum stared at the large raven as if she were the grass sweepings from the floor of his den. 

    Toady’s lower jaw did not move from its position flat upon Ryefield’s head. The small toad merely tilted his head back to answer. 

    “The more the merrier, but no more tricks,” said Toady.

    “It’s settled then,” confirmed the opossum as he released eye contact with the bird and headed off down the trail with Toady. Darkwing waited until the pair was a distance ahead, then with several flaps from her strong wings and a swoosh of wind from her feathers, was aloft following the toad and the opossum. 

    Darkwing loved her gift of flight and was always happy to take to the sky and observe the world below with all its wonders. It was freedom, she thought, true freedom, never to be taken lightly. Rekindled within her were the same sensations that she had felt when, with a nudge from her mother, she fell from the nest out into the wide unknown, falling until her feathers caught the flowing air that sent her skyward into the great expanse of the heavens. The raven, like the toad, was born and raised in the forest of the surrounding valley where she experienced the world from her own unique perspective never taking lightly the role that she played in the natural order.

    As the toad and opossum cleared the forest’s edge, Darkwing was already flying high above them, watching the pair bouncing down the daisy-lined path toward the farmer’s pond. Sun-drenched in the summer’s morning glow, the two on the ground squinted contentedly while high above the raven stretched her wings, letting her black feathers absorb the warmth. Suddenly a strong, unexpected gust of cool wind came from the direction of the forest. It pushed Darkwing’s flight further out into the field until she was directly over a small pond that glistened far below. She thought for an instant that she heard a voice call her name as the zephyr rushed by, but as she scanned the ground below and the sky all around her there was only nature.   

    In the distance a tractor sputtered and coughed as it culled weeds from between the rows of knee-high wheat. The farmer and his machine were but a speck on the golden carpet that stretched out upon the back of the rolling valley floor. Its sides were flanked by green forests and gurgling brooks spotted with emerald green pools where fish jumped and water spiders danced. These were the days of summer, radiant with warmth and beauty that filled a heart enough to last a lifetime. These were the days that made all the cold, rainy, cloudy times bearable for the creatures of the land. There was a saying in the woods: To end one’s journey within the days of summer would make the journey a perfect one. To lie down in the tall grass and flowers of a wood-flanked clearing beneath a cloud-spotted sky of blue was all a creature could want or hope for. The moment filled the three with a lazy, content feeling bound by the abundance that surrounded them and nurtured by the gentle thoughts of the day that lay ahead.

    The tops of the reeds pulsated gently in the fickle breeze, coaxing ripples to flow from the green, trembling stems out across the otherwise calm surface of the pond. Ryefield and Toady could see Darkwing’s reflection in the water as she flew back and forth overhead. She made several more passes before landing on the branch of a nearby tree from which she could watch her friends at the pond’s edge.

    The water was clear and shallow along the banks of the pond, fading to a lapis blue in the depths of the middle where the larger fish cruised in search of stray minnows and fallen insects. 

Ryefield and Toady approached the edge of the pond through a break in the reeds. From there they could wade into the shallows and be safe from most dangers. 

    “Move me over to that big dragon on the reed,” demanded the squirming toad. “Old Toady knows how, you’ll see.” 

    “All right, all right, but don’t fall off, cause if a big fish doesn’t get you your green water cousins will.” 

    “Toady’s good, you don’t worry.”     

    Ryefield waded forward toward the bright red dragonfly that was perched upon the tip of a reed. As soon as the two were close enough, the red insect disappeared in a blinding flash of wart, gray skin and tongue. 

    “Well now, that happened so quickly that it was all just a blur,” thought the amazed opossum. 

    Toady’s mouth twisted into a false grin as he pushed the dragonfly down his gullet with a gulp and a gomp. 

    On the other side of the clearing they spotted another dragonfly. This one was an electric blue color that sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight. Ryefield moved toward it slowly, and once again Toady triumphed with a lightning burst of speed. Ryefield cautioned the toad a second time not to fall into the water. Toady scoffed at the thought, and he gulped down the second dragonfly.  A familiar buzz came from overhead then went silent just behind them. Toady’s eyes began to twitch right then left as he strained to get a glimpse of the maker of the noise. 

“Turn quick, opossum rat, turn quick now, please!”

    Ryefield, who was now belly deep in water, slowly turned as an excited Toady grabbed tightly at the opossum’s neck, impatiently trying to steer him, while at the same time twisting his own head and eyes to see. 

“Oh boy, a big fat junie on da reeds. Get me over dare quick!”  

    Ryefield happily obliged, and the two edged closer to the fat, brown bug that was resting just beyond the reach of the toad. “Steady, steeeeeady, Ryefield rat,” pleaded the toad.

    A second before the moment of truth, ten green heads appeared upon the surface of the water between them and the insect. Toady, looked down at them quickly then raised his head in time to see the delight of his epicurean affections flying away. 

    “Stupid water toads!” cried the tearful Toady. “Water toads are good for nutten.” 

    Ryefield was staring down the frogs while at the same time positioning himself for a retreat if necessary. As the two made a move toward the bank of the pond, ten more frogs surfaced to block the way. Ryefield stopped moving in time to notice an additional twenty pop up to the rear, completing the circle around them.

    A foggy veil of fear began to creep its way over Toady. Ryefield, although not quite in his own element, felt confident of the outcome should there be an altercation. Bracing himself firmly to the muddy bottom the opossum prepared for a fight should it come.