Traveling with Mr. Ednis Frogbert turned out to be… strange.
Not unpleasant.
Just strange.
At first, everyone thought he would simply accompany them for a short stretch of road. That was how caravans worked—groups merged and separated all the time for safety.
But after one day passed…
Then two…
Then three…
Mr. Frogbert was still there.
Still cheerful.
Still talking.
Still terribly, horrifically ugly.
Daren had grown used to blurting things before thinking, but even he had learned to at least whisper now.
One afternoon, as they walked beside the wagons, he leaned toward Tomas.
"…I'm getting used to it."
Tomas frowned.
"To what?"
Daren nodded toward Frogbert.
"His face."
Tomas stared.
"…you should never say that out loud."
"I didn't!"
"You whispered."
"That counts!"
Behind them, Mikel snorted loudly.
"You two are unbelievable."
Up ahead, Con walked quietly beside the road, listening to the steady rhythm of hooves and wheels.
Mr. Frogbert soon wandered over, as he often did.
"My boy," he said cheerfully.
Con turned his head politely.
"Yes, Mr. Frogbert?"
The man hummed thoughtfully.
"You really do remind me of your father."
Con smiled faintly.
"I've heard that."
Tomas leaned over to Mikel and muttered,
"I want to meet this father just to see what kind of man produces Con… and befriends him."
Mikel whispered back,
"A man with questionable judgment."
Jorin shot them a warning look.
Elara tried very hard not to laugh.
Meanwhile, Mr. Frogbert continued speaking.
"You know, I traveled with your parents many years ago," he said thoughtfully. "Fine people. Kind. Brave."
Con listened politely.
He had heard Harun's story many times.
The supposed story of his parents.
An explosion.
A tragedy.
He had never questioned it.
There had never been a reason to.
Mr. Frogbert tilted his head, studying him.
"Your grandfather must have taken good care of you."
Con nodded softly.
"Yes."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
That part was true.
Harun had raised him.
Protected him.
Fed him.
Scolded him.
Loved him.
Mr. Frogbert chuckled.
"Well, if Harun raised you, that explains it."
Tomas blinked.
"You know his grandfather too?"
"Oh yes," Frogbert said happily. "A stubborn old man."
Daren nodded.
"That checks out."
Con laughed quietly.
Despite everything, the man was easy to talk to.
Maybe too easy.
He seemed to know exactly how to speak to people.
Exactly how to blend into the group.
And slowly, without anyone quite noticing—
He became part of their journey.
Far away…
At the small cottage beside the forest brook—
Harun sat alone inside.
The house felt quieter these days.
Too quiet.
He sat at the wooden table, lazily sipping tea.
His gaze occasionally drifted toward the mirror hanging on the wall.
He had hung it there days ago.
It reflected the small cottage room quietly.
Sometimes he caught himself staring at it for no reason.
"…hm."
He muttered.
"Feels like the brat might walk through it any moment."
Harun snorted at himself.
"Idiot."
Still…
He liked having it there.
It made the house feel less empty.
His eyes wandered to the shelf beside the fireplace.
And there—
Sat the frog statue.
Ugly as ever.
Harun squinted at it.
"…now that I think about it."
He leaned back in his chair.
"For a while now…"
The statue hadn't moved.
Not once.
For years, the annoying thing had been impossible to ignore.
Sometimes he'd wake up and find it on the windowsill.
Sometimes beside Con's bed.
Sometimes right in the middle of the floor like it had wandered there on its own.
Harun had cursed it more times than he could count.
But lately…
Nothing.
No shifting.
No creeping around.
It just sat there like an ordinary statue.
Harun scratched his beard.
"…did you finally give up?"
The frog statue stared back silently with its ugly stone face.
Harun grunted.
"Good."
"Stay still for once."
Still…
Something about it bothered him.
Because the statue hadn't just stopped moving.
It had stopped doing anything.
Like something inside it had gone quiet.
Harun shook his head and stood up.
"Bah."
"Old man's imagination."
He grabbed his coat and stepped outside to chop wood.
Behind him—
Inside the quiet cottage—
The mirror reflected the empty room.
And the frog statue remained perfectly still.
For the first time in many years.
Completely motionless.