Toad sat at the end of Frog's bed. For weeks now he had been busily taking care of his friend's house, cleaning dishes in the sink, washing windows, watering plants, raking giant red and orange leaves. Frog was gravely sick with a fungal infection, one that seemed to badly affect amphibian populations, often killing those who fell ill. It made him lethargic and never hunger, yet Toad made good things to eat everyday for his friend, even if Frog could only devour a crumb of cake or a nibble of sandwich.
Toad thought back upon all the adventures he'd had with his best friend. Days of searching for lost buttons in the tall grasses, waiting for the snail mailman, bravely climbing to the zeniths of mountains, eating chocolate ice cream in the July heat, flying kites in the warm wind, telling scary stories at night by the fireplace: where all of these simple yet wonderful things doomed to end? To merely become memories?
"Frog, shall you not get well, I will be very sad and lonely," confessed Toad.
"I know, Toad," tiredly replied the ill frog as he smiled, "thank you for taking the best care of me, even though you might catch sick, too."
"I'm frightened, Frog."
"I'm a bit scared as well. But we will make this through."
"I'll never have another friend like you."
"I'll always be your best friend, Toad. No matter what happens. But I think I'll make it, and we'll be able to walk once more to the meadow and the river and play and talk together as long as we please."
"That's nice of you to say. I'd very much like that."
Frog yawned greatly, "Can you tell me a story, Toad? Please?"
"Certainly." Unlike that time long ago Toad however had no need to think hard before the words exited his mouth. No need to pace, or stand upon his warty head, or pour water.
"Once," Toad began, "There was a small animal who lived in a large and terrifying world quite uncaring about him. He was quite alone in the overwhelmingness of it all. Until one morning, he met another small creature, to which the two of them took up a friendship. They began to see each other every day of the year, doing things that made them happy and carefree. They swam in the creek and baked cookies and sled down great snowy hills together. The world still remained vast and apathetic to them, but they minded much less because they knew that in their own small corner of it, they had each other. And finally, they realized that maybe that was all that mattered."
"That's a great story, Toad. You ought to write it down so as not to forget it."
"I shall tonight, while you're sound asleep. Now, do have another bite of your sandwich, I don't want you getting thin.", Toad responded concerned. Frog did so, and then shut his eyes closed. Toad covered him with an extra blanket.
"Good-night, Toad. I'll see you in the morning."
"And I'll see you tomorrow as well," Toad stated. Still nervous, he hoped he would be correct about that.
Toad would stay up late in the candlelight watching Frog from a chair, writing down the story he had told earlier and drawing pictures to pass the time. Insomniac, he couldn't fall asleep fearing what he might wake up to. He stepped outside on the porch and looked up to the most beautifully clear night sky he'd ever seen. Endless stars and galaxies illuminated the inky blackness. Toad wished Frog was well enough to see it, to be as humbled as he was now to the sight. He stepped back in and walked up to the bed; Frog was breathing calmly. Toad sat down once more, waiting for Frog to open his eyes.
"There were so many more stories I just have to tell him," he thought, pondering the place the two of them had in the cosmos. Whatever that was he knew that, no matter what, he needed Frog by his side every day as he continued to learn about and experience, what Toad thought to be, a very magical world.
