“This was nice. We can meet again another time and have more fun” said the girl leaned to the right a bit in a charming little bow.
“Sure, we can go to places.” answered Ovolon.
“Yeah, do things! Explore the meadow. Discover the whole oddness and the rareness and... and the indulging personalities that we'll meet” she said and her voice gradually became a murmur and her glare drifted to the sky lost in the reverie of imaginative possibilities. “Anyway. Good day for now”
“Have a nice trip. We'll meet again for sure” smiled Ovolon and did a courteous bow himself.
* * *
A few days passed and the sky became the color of ripe tangerines. The meadow was painted blue and filled with thigh high grass, while flocks of constant grasshoppers leaped around, giving movement to the otherwise motionless environment.
“Grasshoppers. Hmm. Could they do?” she touched her chin with her forefinger thinking. “It's pretty far away if I remember correctly.” she looked across the meadow slightly closing her eyes to see better. “No, no that won't do, we must have something bigger”
She was particularly happy today and not for a specific reason. She had just woken up fresh and rested and with a ribbon of adventurous mood around her head. Maybe it was the orange sky to blame, which made her mind flowing with creative vitality, or maybe a glimpse of a possible future shown to her in a dream the night before seeded her motivation. Either way, now she was slipping around her tree hill in a speedy way looking around the soil and searching the holes for something bigger than a grasshopper.
“Oh there you are mister!” she exclaimed triumphantly and with both hands pulled out of a hole a small frog. She held him in front of her face and looked him in the eyes. “Hullo!” she said with a silly voice trying to make a frog-face. The frog looked her back and changed his hue to the color of the girl's skin. This kind of frogs are the most suitable for the job, she thought. Using their camouflage they can slip away the predating flying squallors, since they are literally passing in front their beaky faces. With the frog still in hand, she reached a big root under her tree, leaned under and pulled out an elaborate mechanical contraption the size of her head. It was made out of bolts and gears and featured a revolving ratchet lever on one side, two curly metal springs set side to side in the middle and a convoluted sum of many calibrating gears on the other side. She placed the contraption on the ground and carefully mounted the frog on, fitting his legs inside the metal springs.
“Alright, now you wait here for a while. I won't be long.” she said and returned to the tree's roots. The frog turned his gaze away indifferently, looking down to this petty talk. He was here solely for business and his haughty attitude would continue as long as his price wasn't payed. In advance of course. The particular line of work includes many dangers to it's practitioners and Mr Frog had a family, and might have mental anguish expenses to cover.
After a while the girl returned with a paper note in one hand and a glass jar, in which a mosquito of the genus of worthwhiles buzzed, in the other.
“Here you go Mr. Frog, enjoy your delicacy” said the girl opening the jar, and as the mosquito skyrocketed to freedom it, met a sticky green tongue which pulled it right inside Mr. Frog's mouth. She rolled the piece of paper in her hand, pulled an orange ribbon from inside her hair and tied it around the little green projectile's neck, while he still savored the sweet taste of the mosquito combined with a bitter metallic taste of blood. That's how I like my payment, helpless and with a full stomach, thought Mr. Frog and licked his swollen lips.
“Ok and now for the tricky job.”
She spend a few minutes revolving the gears and rearranging their place on the side of the contraption. From time to time she stopped to carefully look at the distance and slightly swift the position of her messaging device to the right or to the left.
“Done!” she said after a while with a victorious look, proud of herself for her impeccable calibrating skills. She started giving the ratchet lever some turns with increasing speed, counting in her head backwards from one hundred and thirty-eleven good ways, which she calculated was the distance needed for her message to reach the receiver. Then, she abruptly stopped and the cogs started spinning, giving momentum to the metal springs and launching Mr. Frog towards the horizon.
“Off you go! Have a nice flight! She waved as the frog turned orange and disappeared into the orange sky.
* * *
Ovolon took the frog right in the face.
Startled and temporarily blinded, he stepped back and stumbled on the pot of stew he was preparing, throwing it over and drenching himself with the steaming soup. “Aaaah.” he cried and fell on the ground in an X position, with the frog, who was now changing his color from orange to fleshlike, still stuck on his face. Nothing moved. After a brief moment of total stillness, he removed the frog with a swift thrust of his hand and opened wide all his facial holes, gasping for air.
“Woah, some precise mail that is.” he admitted after he got himself together.
He took the rolled paper off Mr. Frog's neck and bid him farewell.