Frogs - WIP

“Of all things, why did it have to be frogs?”

Tybus wrinkled his nose as he slogged through the murky swamp water. The cold stuff came up to his knees, soaking into his pants as mud squelched into his boots. Large insects buzzed about his ears; he slapped one of the annoying things away from his face for the umpteenth time and yanked his wooden staff from where it had sunk into the mud. His small dragon companion twitched her tail in agitation where she sat perched on his shoulder.

“I bloody hate this bog,” the half-elf grunted. Normally he avoided this area like the plague. It reeked of rotting leaves and wet earth and was full of a variety biting insects. It was an incredibly unpleasant place to be. Circumstances had forced him, however, to abandon the good sense that usually kept him on solid ground. He’d been hired to concoct a particularly complicated potion. The ingredients were, by and large, rare and difficult to find. Over the course of the last week he’d managed to check off every item on the recipe list except for one thing. Actually, three things. A trio of adult Firegut Frogs. They were nasty little creatures that thrived only in the wildest parts of the swamp, and so here he was, sloshing through the muck and searching for elusive amphibians in the miserable afternoon heat.

“Why don’t you go and find the beasties for me, Bean?”  Tybus remarked to his dragon, “No different from catching mice, is it?”

She chirped unhappily and buried her blue nose in the mage’s unruly hair. He smirked; that was a definite no. With a sigh he halted and looked around, eyes sweeping over the marshy landscape. Where were they? Movement caught his eye to the left and he turned his head. Sitting on a grimy log was a frog the size of his fist, green in color save for the bright orange of its belly. The creature blinked at him lazily, first one eye then the other, and opened its mouth to let out a loud, droning croak.

Tybus tensed. He had no desire to let it escape him. The sooner he caught the frog, the sooner he’d be on his way out of this awful swamp and back to the tavern and a cold mug of beer.