The rain. It's different this time. Each droplet is a prism. Each droplet holds light. The small rainbows illuminate the river frogs singing to the rain. They line up along the river, a phalanx of miniature green soldiers, heads tilted up towards the sky, mouths agape. And neither the river snakes nor the rain owls frighten them. The river frogs stare down all intruders, all predators.
What's changed? He wonders, watching the tiny, green, fearless line advancing. He stomps his feet and waves his arms. The frogs continue to advance, walking, not hopping, legs rising and falling in unison, a phalanx of miniature emotionless soldiers. Suddenly, they rear back as a unit, then start quickly leap-frogging backwards, fear evident in their eyes. He looks behind him, but sees nothing. The frogs continue jumping back, looking panicked, but remaining heroically in formation. He moves forward. They jump back. After a while, he realizes that they are not trying to run away from him. They are merely trying to draw him to follow them. The realization has come too late as he loses his balance on a river stone, falls face first and hits his head on a rock. As mud and water rush into his lungs, he feels hundreds of frog leg pads jumping up and down his back, making sure he does not get back up again.
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