The Malenhad Bull-Toad is an elusive creature — evolved to survive in Angmar’s blasted, inhospitable environment, it burrows itself into sulfur-reeking sand and slows its heart rate to near-death, waiting for the right combination of temperature and humidity to dig its way out and find a mate.
The chirrup, chirrup of a female bull-toad joins the chorus of noises in the swamp. A male toad wakes, and its flat feet scrabble at the sand to launch it to the surface, driven by the siren-song of a potential mate. It has not seen a creature like itself for two years, and its small brain knows only one task: find another.
The female toad-call comes not from another toad, but from a two-legged creature that towers over it, still making the noise. The bull-toad, having almost no natural predators due to spending most of its life underground, does not even consider fleeing.
Here, this one is large enough. Careful now.
Even if it had wanted to flee, the toad is lifted up, for the first time in its short, secluded life finding itself high enough off the ground to take in the sickly-green miasma of its home and the far-off gray mountains which hem it in. It does not know that it is experiencing a thing which few toads ever do — there is no toadish concept of ‘mountains’ or ‘sky’ or ‘wonder and awe,’ only ‘up’ and ‘down’ and ‘hunger’ and ‘sleep.’
Hold still, little one. You will be free in a moment.
Something tickles across its back. The toad does not know that, to survive in the acid waters of Malenhad, its ancestors evolved a thick slime which coats its skin. It does not know that the Men who still cling to the bare rocks of this land harvest the slime by scraping some of it off with the dull edge of a knife, using it to slather on burns and cuts to protect them, too, from the harsh atmosphere.
The toad does, however, find the warmth of the hand it sits in rather pleasant, and the sensation of its back being scratched not at all displeasing. The hand which holds it is rough and calloused – rather like a toad, in fact, and the face which peers down at it is as slate-pale as the bleached soil, with eyes as gray as the mountains. The toad feels at home in this hand, with this not-a-toad that holds it and shows it the sky. It does not miss its sandy burrow or its stinking swamp, and this thing making the sound of a female toad would make a very decent female toad indeed.
They don’t mind it so much, and if we are careful they will never feel the difference. Good-bye, friend.
The toad does not feel a sense of loss when it is lowered back into the hot-spring. It will search for another toad, and it will mate, and it will return to its slumber. It will not see the mountains again, but the smallness of its world brings it no sorrow.
Booted feet splash through the water, leaving the toad alone in the swamp.
Heulyn of the Trév Gallorg tramps across the stinking waste of Malenhad with a cheery enthusiasm that seems to challenge the very stones of Angmar to quench it. He had been chattering away all morning, having eagerly accepted Therdis’ request for someone to show her the lay of the land before she set out on her own. It had caused no small amount of gossip in Aughaire that the young man was infatuated with the tall, quiet stranger whom they had tentatively welcomed. Therdis had heard these rumors and ignored them, and Heulyn seemed oblivious to them entirely.
“It’s lucky you’re not put off by toads like some people. You’ll be needing a lot of this, for…well…” He clears his throat awkwardly. Therdis knows he intended to refer to the wounds she had gained in captivity, but is not sure why he finds the topic uncomfortable. She ignores the comment and steps past the young scout, letting him stew in the silence created by his own bluntness. Utterly undefeated by her lack of response, Heulyn continues on with a monologue about the respective populations of bull-toads and blood-flies. Idly, Therdis wonders if there is something about herself which attracted men who did not know when to stop talking. At least Heulyn is informative rather than merely silly.
“Oy! Don’t just stand there, give me the next jar!” The man had gotten much farther ahead than she had thought possible in the brief time she had stopped to think. He waggles his fingers impatiently, and Therdis resists the urge to throw a toad at him. The toads did not deserve such a thing. They were strangely docile, at any rate, apparently because they spent much of their lives burrowed underground and were toxic if ingested by most other creatures.
“Your turn to catch them,” Heulyn says as he takes the ceramic dish from her hand. “Here, this one is large enough.” Despite its foul sulfur stench, something about the Malenhad water caused the toads to grow to an incredible size, and the creature sitting in a flat lump at Therdis’ feet is one of the largest ones they have encountered that day. The toad does not even bother trying to flop away, and only protests with a single flail of its legs as she picks it up in both hands.
“Hold still, little one. You will be free in a moment.” The scout gives Therdis an odd look when she speaks to the toad after ignoring his attempts at conversation for the past several hours. She ignores that, too. He goes back to making toad-noises.
The process of collecting the toad-slime does not harm the toad, a fact which Therdis adds to her increasing estimation of the Trév Gallorg. Not only did it prevent a yearly decimation of the population, but she finds the ugly creatures endearing in their own fat, stupid way. The toad in her hand has flattened itself into a lumpy pancake shape as she scrapes some of the slime into the waiting jar.
“You’re a natural at this, anyways. I’d almost think they like you, except that they’re toads. At any rate, they don’t mind it so much, and if we are careful they’ll never feel the difference.”
It strikes Therdis that the humans were only assuming the toads felt nothing.
I pray Mithrendan will give us new assignments on opposite sides of Eriador. You are not any fun.
After all, one could be silent and still feel much. She finds she has suddenly lost her interest in toad-catching, and that Heulyn’s ramblings have the sting of an old hurt.
“I will make camp where we planned. Carry on by yourself.”
Heulyn shrugs and wanders off, and Therdis waits until he is gone to speak to the toad again.
“Good-bye, friend. Go safely.”
The toad says nothing.
