From Small Beginings

John looked up at the ceiling of his tent. There it was again an almost imperceptible thud. Sitting up he looked out the front of the tent at the large oak tree he had camped next to. He heard a tree branch snap in the distance.

As he got out his foot nearly came down on a grass colored frog. No, it looked exactly like the surrounding grass. In a blink it changed to make itself more visible. Now it was stark white against the green of the forest.

A female voice came from behind him. “Help!”

John spun on his barefoot heel to see who had spoken. But no one was there.

“No, its me in front of you. The frog. Please hide me from the Zanak mercenaries.”

John turned slowly to focus on the 'frog' that was speaking in his head.

“One is coming now! He is human but not. He is Zanak. He is Death to my people.”

Somehow John knew what to do. He picked up the little frog and reached behind him to place it snuggly on his bare back. He then entered the tent and zipped up the entrance.

The sound of snapping branches was getting closer. “Something big is coming” he muttered under his breath.

A small man appeared at the edge of camp. He was not more than five feet high but the oak branches directly over his head were broken or twisted out of the way fifteen feet up. As the man turned he seemed to look directly through John in his tent.

The 'little' man didn't find what he was looking for as he moved off in the opposite direction.

John breathed a sign of relief and felt a hand, not a frog on his back. “My people thank you...John.”