‘Not another one,’ thought Toad as a dark pebble hit the pond. Toad hated his revere being disturbed as he sat in the bottom of the pond, doing things only toads know about.
How was a Toad to achieve irresistible beauty if his solitude was constantly disturbed by those pesky kids?
“Splonk, splash, splonk.”
He shifted slightly to save himself the continued interruption of the falling pebbles. Above he could see the kids aiming to make a bigger splash than before.
Patience was not something Toad possessed. He had selected this particular pond because of its seclusion.
‘What a mistake,’ he thought, ‘now I am in the firing line,’ as another pebble zinged past him.
Toad decided to take matters into his own hands. Shifting to his left, he could see a boy about to throw a pebble seemingly in his direction. He let his tongue, long, green and sticky streak out of his mouth up through the pond and slapped the boy on his leg.
It happened so quickly the boy didn’t see it coming or going.
The boy jumped back and looked horrified at the pond, which quickly settled into its sedate self.
The boy nursing a slapped shin, the Toad’s tongue having stung him considerably, showed his mates the red welt that was now evident. The wound grew redder, it stung more, and the boys decided to take their friend home to seek help.
Once they disappeared Toad grinned to himself and thought it clever his tongue could do what it did. The wound he inflicted would be gone by the time the boys were home, but he knew he had scared them off and now he could get back to his current purpose.
Beautifying himself for his rendezvous with the cute little female toad, two ponds across.
If he breathed in hard enough most of the bulbous warts on his head might disappear.