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He has been sleeping for a long time now, you think.
There is a frog, darkened and contrasting your pale hands, before you. You sneezed on him because he hit you in the face, and then he stopped moving. You feel bad about that. You’re not supposed to do that.
Is it sulking? You would be sulking if someone sneezed on you. (You’re not supposed to do that, because you’re supposed to be proper, like Gramma Maleficia says).
You’re bored of waiting for him to wake up, even though you’re supposed to be very patient.
You can be patient another time, you eventually decide.
You go to see Lilia, frog in hand, because in the forever that you’ve known him, Lilia has always known what to do.
It’s quick walking back into the house (your limbs are too stubby to take the stairs two at a time like Lilia does, but you’ll be able to do it eventually) and you find him in the back yard, chopping wood.
You don’t quite understand why he’s doing that — isn’t it easier to just break it when you’re sitting down and comfy?
You sure think so.
You wait for a break in the rhythmic chopping and present the black frog to Lilia, staring at him quietly before you make your request.
Fix it, you say.
You wait a beat, then another.
Lilia’s face is strange.
“Mal, what do you mean?”
“He’s sleeping. Please fix it.”
Lilia makes a strange expression, half crumpled like the helmet you found in the back shed when you hit it too hard.
“Malleus…”
Oh.
Full name is Not Good. Did you offend the frog a lot? He would forgive you once he woke up, right?
“Malleus, that frog is dead.”
…
You nod, understanding what Lilia means. He’s Dead. You know what Dead is, Gramma and Lilia say that’s where Mama Maleanor and Papa Raverne are. You could hear him talking about them in your egg. You just have to wait for them to come back.
That’s why Gramma wants you to be patient! You get it now.
“So, when is he coming back?”
Lilia’s face isn’t improving. You’re smart, and you’re patient, and that’s good, so why isn’t he proud of you?
You just have to wait for all of them to come back from Dead.
“He…’s not coming back.”
Is the frog really mad at you, so he won’t want to play again? That’s bad. Sneezing isn’t that big of a problem, right?
The frog is still in your hands. Lilia takes him gently, dropping the magearm he was holding, and gives you a smile. That’s better, you think — smiles mean happy.
“Look, Mal, I’ll see if I can get him to come back, okay? You run and find something to do in the house, it'll be dinner in an hour.”
You hope Lilia can convince the frog to come back and stay longer.
You return to the house, now confident that Lilia will fix him. He turns away from you as you do so and cups the frog in his hands.
You don’t quite notice.
—
Tomorrow, the frog is back in your hands, bright green like your eyes, and it’s hopping about as you chase it. (Gramma would say it’s not dignified, so you don’t care about dignified). You’re glad he’s back, and not mad at you.
Lilia watches you from the porch steps.
He seems weird.
Maybe the frog said something mean to him?