Free The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat by Damon Plumides

Creek
    T his is all going according to plan, Warwick,” said the queen as the group, now one guard short, moved on down the path. The forest seemed to Druciah to be “sentient, like it was watching them carefully as they descended deeper into the thickness of the wood. As they pressed on, they could feel its eyes all around them.
    The air was thick with humidity, and they all grew tense. As they approached the creek bed, they heard a tiny voice shout, “FIRE!”
    All of a sudden, a barrage of tiny arrows came from all directions. It was a full-fledged ambush that went on for several minutes. The darts bounced off of their fish-scale clothing just as Joffrey said it would. Not a single quill penetrated the armor.
    â€œPraise our reptilian friend, my suit is repelling every shot,” said one of the guards.
    â€œCease fire!” said the tiny voice. “Did you say reptilian friend?” Warwick Vane Bezel III turned his head all around, looking for the source of the orders. “Joffrey’s been at it again boys!” the voice screamed. Just then hundreds of frogs appeared, climbing down the Spanish moss, gathering in ranks, military-style. They were brightly colored with glossy black patterns that resembled camouflage. Most of them were yellow or yellow-green, but there was the occasional red or blue one in their midst. The largest among them could not have been more than three inches in length.
    The frog, who appeared to be the leader, hopped forward. Warwick Vane Bezel III resisted the urge to squash him with his boot.
    â€œI am General Fairfax, leader of the Poison Dart Frogs of Bug Stool Creek, and you are trespassing. You have no right to be here.” The general was one of the larger of the frogs. He was yellowish green and black and wore a tiny tailored officer’s jacket complete with a red sash and gold epaulettes. On his head he wore an equally tiny black Marshals hat with fur trimmings. “Retreat now and we will not subject you to our curse,” he said with authority.
    â€œYour curse?” the queen inquired. “Tell me, my tiny general, how are you cursed?”
    â€œOnce we were men,” said Fairfax, before letting out a loud ribbit . “The Witch cursed us. Now we guard this creek. It is our sole purpose. I will tell you again that you must turn back, or we will fire. There are hundreds of us, and we all are armed. If even one of our poison arrows pierces your skin, you will change into a frog like us.”
    Warwick Vane Bezel III looked at Fairfax incredulously, but the general continued. “My frogs are excellent marksmen, and I can promise you they will find the holes in that fish-scale clothing that no-good turtle gave you.”
    The queen was only half-listening. Something the frog said had her thinking. “Fairfax?” she said, “I remember a General Fairfax from years ago, when I was a small child. Are you the Fairfax who was the leader of my father’s army?”
    â€œI was a general in Harsizzle’s army long ago.” He paused and then quietly queried, “You are little Druciah?”
    â€œNot little anymore,” she answered. “I have ruled in Harsizzle for more than twenty years, since my father’s unfortunate and untimely passing. What happened to you, General? We all assumed that you were dead.”
    â€œHave I been here for that long?” the frog asked, not expecting an answer. “The king . . . dead? More than twenty years, you say?”
    â€œYes, General,” the queen answered. “It has been a long time. But focus now and tell me what happened.”
    â€œYes . . . yes,” he said slowly as if shaking the cobwebs from his memory. “Your father sent me to council with the Witch because he was fearful of an uprising among the Folland people to our north. Though they had been quiet for generations, there were rumors of a famine in their country, which your father thought