Flexible Morals Ch. 01 and Prologue

"Hmm? Oh, well, a little, I suppose. I was actually trying to catch an early dinner when those rotten carrion eaters happened upon me." His eyelids slid together, then apart, in a very gradual blink.

"Can I go home, then? I'm hungry too. You can come if you'd like."

"That sounds lovely."

With his approval, Phyre got to her feet and brushed the dirt from the back of her robe. It was a futile effort, as much of the grit was the especially moist and clingy kind. Besides, her robe was filthy regardless. When had she last had the chance to clean it? No, don't think about that, she reminded herself. She had managed only a few steps when a croak sounded from behind her. Her voice spotted the frog unmoved from where he had been.

"Er, if it's not too much trouble, would you mind carrying me? My legs are a bit sore from the birds' beaks." He held a foreleg and Phyre could just make out a sharp bruise along it.

"Oh, of course." She stooped down and held out a hand for him to hop into. Once the frog was on board, she stood again and cast her voice upon him more closely. "Are you hurt anywhere else? The striders seemed to be pecking you a lot."

The frog gave his head a single shake. "No, just a few bruises here and there. We wishing frogs are built tough. Have to protect our wishes, after all. And besides, those birds couldn't hold a candle to some of the other creatures in this forest."

"That's good," she said as she headed into the trees. "I'm sorry I can't think of anything to wish for."

"That's quite alright, my lady. You have all the time in the world."

===

A short distance up the river, already out of sight of Phyre and the frog, the strider birds continued to probe the murky currents with their beaks. One spotted movement beneath the surface and jabbed down for the kill. A frantic struggle began between the twin spears of its mouth as it drew a fish from the water. Then, just as the bird prepared to swallow its catch, it felt something that gave it pause.

The other striders watched their comrade's hunting success with envy but then they too felt a change. The feathers on one began to lose their pearly white coloring, reverting to a darkening brown. The change spread to the other birds and soon each had turned a color nearly identical to river mud.

The birds began to sag, their muscles and bones losing strength as their metamorphosis steadily unraveled. The beak which held the fish fell off and landed in the river with a splat. From there the change came quickly, each strider fast reverting to rejoin the mud and grit that lay beneath the river's surface. Moments later the fish resumed swimming as if nothing had happened.

===

The walk home would not have been particularly long, ordinarily. Today, it took a while as Phyre paused to forage out berries and fruits. The woods changed substantially as she moved from the eaves by the river to the deeper recesses and then out towards the dry edge that held her home and eventually led to town. By the time home came into sight, she had cradled a colorful assortment of the forest's fare. She'd found several strawberries, a coil of sugarvine and a fat, juicy-looking teep fruit whose bright, yellow flesh had somehow eluded the fruit-eating birds that came with spring.

"Do frogs eat fruit?" she had asked him upon plucking the teep from its branch.

"So long as you make it nice and small," he had replied, eyeing the bounty from his perch on her shoulder. At first, she'd been worried that he might fall off but his feet seemed quite sticky.

Phyre strode towards the front of her house, shuffling her burden over to one arm so that she could open the door with her other.

"This is your house?" the frog asked.

"Mhmm." She reached for the door handle and gave it a shake. Part of the frame fell away, but that was all. The handle didn't turn, it hadn't for days. Perhaps some of the metal had melted together. With a soft sigh, she stepped to the side and lifted her legs over the wall. The ashes on the floor were long cold now. She lowered her seeing song down to the cusp of hearing. It was better this way. Better to not see too much of the house or see what was outside it. Never again did she want to look at the pair of holes she had dug then filled in with dirt and nothing else.

Phyre moved across the dusty, creaking floor of the kitchen. Some of the boards beneath her feet threatened to snap under her weight. She picked up the table from where it had fallen over again and propped it up against one of the more intact walls, carefully balancing it on the sole leg it had left.

"What happened here?" The frog asked as she placed him on the table and set the fruit beside him. "Did you burn it down, Phyre?"

"No, I didn't burn it down." Then she turned away to fetch a chair that was now a board, whispering as she went, "I didn't burn it down."

Phyre placed the bit of wood by the table and knelt upon it. Both pieces of furniture had become much shorter. The table was a little too high but it served its purpose well enough. She began stripping the sugarvine of its inedible leaves.

"What then? This is your house but where are its walls? Where is the roof? There's nothing here but burned timber and ash."

"I know," she mumbled and bit off a part of the vine. Her tastebuds recoiled. It wasn't yet ripe. She should have guessed as much by the absence of sticky, seed-laden sap oozing from its flesh. Regardless, it would have to suffice. She ground her teeth into it and tried to ignore the bitterness.

"Please, forgive my prying, my lady. It's just that we frogs are quite wary of fire. Yet here I sit in a burned out home. So I must know, what happened here?"

Phyre turned her head to face him. "I'll tell you later," she mumbled.

"There's not going to be any more fire, is there?" he asked. His throat was throbbing quite rapidly. Did that mean he was worried? It sounded that way. There wasn't any clue in his eyes, they were no wider than normal.

"No, there won't be anymore. Not like this." Then she reached for the teep and sunk her fingers into its flesh. They dug into the well-ripened fruit with only the slightest bit of resistance. She pulled away a chunk, ground it in her hand then dropped the smear in front of the frog.

"Ah, my gratitude." He hopped forwards and began nibbling on the yellow flesh.

"Mind the seeds. They'll make your mouth go numb." Phyre pulled off another bit of teep for herself, careful not to dig too deep. The nasty, black pits usually hid in a big clump at the fruit's core. On top of all else, she didn't feel the need to have her mouth go lax and useless.

"So," he said between nibbles. "Have you given your wish some more thought? I could fix your house up, if you wanted."

"No, that's okay. I don't mind it." She had a system going now. Alternating bites of the sugarvine that wasn't sweet and the teep to drive the bitterness away. The frog seemed content with what he had. The portion she'd given him was almost half his size.

"It must get a bit drafty at times, wouldn't it? And there's nothing to keep the rain off your head. Not that I've much of an issue with a bit of rain, being an amphibian and all. Still, you wouldn't like some nice, sturdy walls and a roof to keep the predators out?"

Again Phyre paused her eating to regard him for a few moments. It occurred to her that, had she not been quite so exhausted from her earlier misery, the frog's chatter would have been grating on her nerves by now. Instead, she felt far too weary to think about anything other than putting food in her mouth and maybe falling asleep soon after. A short croak reminded her that he had asked a question. "No," she replied. "There's no predators around here." It was a lie. She felt it better not to say that she didn't care if any predators showed up.

"Well, suit yourself."

A cloud of quiet quickly descended on them after that. All Phyre could hear was the drone of night insects starting to pick up. That and the faintest whisper of her own voice as she watched what she was doing. The sound started to bother her so she sought to fill it. "Have you a name, frog?"

"A name? Mmm, I've never really given it any thought. We wishing frogs are rather solitary after we leave the academy, you see. Not much of a need for names."

"You didn't have one at the academy?" Phyre asked. There was a childish charm to his words and she could feel herself being swept up in it. Perhaps that was what her wish could be, to be swept away from this place and off on an adventure. For now, she would listen to his stories.

"Oh yes, I think I did. It was, um... Tad, I believe. Or maybe that was just what they called me since I was a tadpole then." He stopped, his eyes slid closed and opened and he appeared to be thinking. "So what did they call the other tadpoles?" he wondered softly. "Oh, I remember now. My name was, I mean it is, I mean... What I mean to say is, my name back at the academy was Taddius, but everyone shortened it to Tad."

"So I should call you Tad?" she asked.

"Well, I suppose you could. Only, it isn't very suitable anymore, seeing how I'm not a tadpole. Or perhaps that was all just a coincidence and it really is my name." He gave his head a little shake.

"Did you bump your head when the striders were attacking you?" Phyre asked. "You seem to be having a lot of trouble remembering who you are."

"No. At least, I don't think I bumped my head. It could just be that my academy days were quite a few years ago. I haven't had anyone to talk to since then, so I suppose my name just slipped away."

"Right. Do you want a new name, or will Tad suffice."

"I think..." he paused, blinked. "I think I would like a new name. Tad doesn't have the same ring to it anymore that I remember it once had. Or maybe it never did." He shook his head again.

"What do you think of Drop as a name? Because you have that patch of blue on your back that looks like a water drop." Phyre pointed to the spot and traced her finger in the air above it.

"Patch of blue? Do I?" he asked and twisted his head up in an effort to see.

"Yes, right there. You didn't know?"

"No, I've never been able to see back there. Nobody's ever mentioned it to me."

"Oh, well what do you think?"

"I think, if I do have a drop of water, that Drop is a very suitable name."

"Then henceforth, I shall call you Drop," said Phyre. Gently as she could, she tapped a finger upon his back to grant the name unto him.

Drop blinked after a few moments. "I don't really feel any different."

"Maybe that's because, at heart, your name was always Drop."

"Ah, maybe it was."

Phyre continued to pick at the remains of the teep and sugarvine. They hadn't been hugely filling, but they would have to do. Fatigue was winning out over hunger right now, anyway. She swept her voice around her body, peeking at the robe she wore. It was only getting messier. A dribbling of food from her last few days of eating trailed down the front. Dirt and mud stained the back and all over there were splatters where wet leaves had struck. The right sleeve was starting to tear, too. When had that begun? She couldn't even remember. "I think I need a new robe," she said.

"You could wish for one, if you wanted. I'd think it a bit of a waste, but I'm not one to judge."

"No, I'll... I'll find another way. Maybe tomorrow. I'm going to go to bed, now," Phyre only half said to him. She stood, leaving the remnants of the fruit on the remnant of the table. If she was lucky, the night creatures wouldn't touch it and there would be some left for tomorrow. But she wouldn't be lucky.

"May I join you? I'd rather not be left alone on this table, you see. And that clingy ash down there looks a bit troublesome for me to traverse." Drop peered over the side and shook his head, then looked up at her.

"Of course." Phyre scooped him up into the palm of her hand. He had a somewhat slimy feel about him, though it wasn't unpleasant. Just a little odd to the touch. She stepped through what was left of the door frame that led into the hall. The carpet here was all gone, along with most of the walls. She could see into every room from here. Then again, casting her voice loud enough, she could have done that before the fire as well.

The bedrooms were around a bend in the hall, hers on the right. Situated there, it had once looked out at the well that stood behind the house. By some perverted twist of luck, Phyre's room was the least damaged in the house. Its roof was missing still, along with the door, north, west and south walls. The east one had half burned down, but the floor was largely intact. Nothing much remained of her furniture. The head of her bed, which had been pressed against the north wall, was gone. She'd done her best to prop it up with some branches from outside, but there was no mattress anymore and the fur blankets had joined the rest of the ash on the floor. In their place, she had collected several leafy branches and some tangles of ivy to serve as covers. Their purpose wasn't so much to keep her warm, for they did a poor job of that. She merely wanted to remember the weight that her blankets had once had on top of her.

Phyre set Drop upon her pillow, a plant-fibre sack stuffed with leaves. It was the only bit of cloth to have survived the blaze and that was only because it hadn't been in the house at the time. She shoved away the foliage bedcovers and sat down. The bed made a threatening creak. Scorches discolored much of its frame. It would probably give way at some point in the near future. During the night no doubt, with a stomach-turning crash. She stretched out and began the arduous process of arranging her branches and vines atop her body. It never felt right so she eventually gave up and settled down. Her head hit the pillow with a soft crackle of leaves. Drop was watching her but for now she ignored him.

The light of the day was fading. Such a change did little to hinder Phyre's vision. She stared at her room. It had once been cozy and lovingly decorated with flowers from the woods, some fresh and some dried. She tried to envision that sight again but couldn't quite get it correct. Now it was cold and damp from the evening and exposed to the darkness. Anything could creep in, there was no safety to be had here.

Wish for a new house, a little voice commanded her. She could have done it. She didn't. Instead she looked at Drop who had been oddly quiet. "I could tell you how it happened, if you want to hear," said Phyre.

"Okay, maybe it will help us think of your wish." He blinked and shuffled a little bit closer.

Then Phyre told him the story. And when she had finished, neither of them was any closer to knowing what her wish should be.