Ben - Chapter Four

“Hitschts hooks svtwibbles, anhgstii roi ohks oooh” bleated the mysteriously angry toad as she pointed the rifle through the car door window and directly in to Ben’s eye.

Sitting startled, he did so with his hands gripping hard to make a strong indent in the steering wheel. A nondescript blue arse fly entered the scene and was quickly tonguesnatched and swallowed up by our toad, who then turned her attentions back to Ben.

Eyes wide and breathing calmly, Ben had known of these majestic toads, these queens of the fountain, strummers of the bank, feelers of good fortune. A recognition happened, and as tears welled up in the toad, the disarming effect weakened the resolve and pushed the rifle lower. They both knew they were in good company. Two out of three cannot be too bad.

“Ben, you furry old arse. You frightened me out of my treebarks! May I offer you some ginger tea and a horse chestnut biscuit?”

A sigh of relief and recognition was heard as creatures great and hidden emerged. He leaned over, kissed her on the forehead and immediately reminisced of dancing to the beat of the woodpecker under the yew tree.

As promised before, he produced what he needed to say, reaching in to a pocket, jumbling around with fingers dodging pipes, leave and cones, and carefully fished out a lump of paper.

The paper, crumpled in hand and scrawled, was extended with a reassuring tug and brushed as if to make a gesture towards its own comfort, denying it the right to be furious at having to spend hours in a dark pocket with a smelly pipe and some fish-scale tobacco.

Ben looked up to scan his audience, a hodge-podge of forest weevils, ants, deer, monkeys and horses. Each one sat in a treaty of silence, agreeing not to fight or eat each other. Ben had something to say, and it needed to be heard.