Massive leaves and tall trees reached to the sky, filtering the light into a vibrant green ambiance amid the chatter of unseen forest occupants, squawking and squalling in hiding. Vines crawled up trunks and stretched from one branch to the other in a palacious viridian canopy. Charon, in his massive serpentine length, wound through the trees and lazily sagged high above, watching us wander through the brush. Ira slept soundly on the glossy black scales of his head as he slithered in steady stride. It wasn’t often he could bask as a Wyrm, unbothered by who might be around to deem him either fearsome god or unwelcome foe. He’d always been peculiar about exposing the most interesting part of himself, as if he’d rather it were a secret. Or perhaps he’d held on to a sort of shame. Regardless, he’d lurked overhead far longer than usual. It was strange how we had not seen anyone for days, the better part of a week, as far as I could tell. When we’d arrived, we had expected inhabitants and horror filled stares at Charon’s beastly form, but it seemed this world lacked that crucial element.

Crawling over a thick, mossy log, Asherah stopped halfway, spotting a small creature whose curious gaze met hers. Its round black eyes were like vinyl, its smooth skin smelled of citrus, and it had a soft gray underbelly. No bigger than a quail egg, it tipped its head to one side. The flat of its smooth back was too inviting to ignore. She reached out and stroked a finger down its moist skin. It lowered its head and stepped forward. She had not expected it to be damp and wiped the moisture along her pants. Asherah shifted back and looked around, spotting many of these tiny yellow creatures lounging in the spots of sunlight breaking through the lush greenery. Some were even relaxing in the cool shade of thick leaves.

Swinging back over the log, she waved a hand. “Callan, come here, look at these! They’re so cute!”

“What is it?” He strolled over, hands in his pockets as she pointed to the little colorful being on the log. He sighed, unimpressed, “It’s a frog.”

“It’s adorable,” she whispered. “They’re so small too, we could keep a handful of them.”

“What would you do with a bunch of useless frogs?” He straightened in stern protest.

She scoffed, “Come on, I let you keep Charon.”

Charon hissed from the trees.

Callan looked up. “I know. And she knows. You’re not amphibious.” He turned to Asherah, adding, “And he’s not useless. Those things are tiny. What are they going to do, Asherah? Destroy the gnat population for you?”

She frowned and folded her arms. “Can’t I keep them for just a little while? You never put up a fight when Erys enslaves an entire population for a bunch of shiny rocks. Besides, this world has been completely boring. It’s been almost a week, and this is the liveliest thing we’ve come across.”

He breathed out a heavy sigh of defeat and rolled his head. “Fine, hand them over.”

Asherah squeaked and bit her lip, delighted by his quick accedence. As much as he wanted to argue, to stay on track with our mission, he knew it was easier to do if she was happy. And right then, those frogs made her happy. We were rife with time, and taking a moment to appease frivolous whim changed nothing. Besides, they were inconsequential.

He scooped them into his hands, fumbling to keep them still. Some jumped away, but most simply stuck to his skin from hands to elbows. He complained half under his breath about their dewy skin and a weird, faint scent. It was a delicate yet pungent smell, and if it were much stronger, it would have burned his nose. He was quick to relate it to the unfortunate scent of a Wyrm suffering of dehydration: musky, sharp, and noxious. She didn’t care, though. Asherah wanted what she wanted, and his complaints barely registered when their foul aroma could be washed away in the next stream or river we found.

We continued through the muggy forest in search of any signs of civilization. Clearly, it was sparse. In any other world, it took a day or so, if that, to find a city or town or ramshackle village. However, in the dense wilderness, it was taking much longer. There wasn’t a trace of Erys anywhere. He must have been farther away than usual, indulging in whatever delight he’d happened upon.

“Hm, can we take a break?” Callan asked.

“A break?” Asherah turned around. It wasn’t like him to want to stop, even if she wanted to, regardless of how many excuses she made.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He took a wobbling step back, winced, and shook his head again. The frogs fell from his hand as he tried to steady himself against a tree.

“Callan? Are you okay?”

“I—this feels… weird?” He looked up as if he thought the overhanging canopy had the answer, and then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

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Asherah gasped and ran over as he hit the ground. Charon shifted in the trees and dropped beside her, returning to a more familiar form. He brushed back his blond hair and looked between us as frantic as she felt, carelessly searching him for the causes of his sudden ailment. Charon leaned around her shoulder, peering down at the fallen god. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” She turned Callan over, finding no trace of injury or attack.

“Shit.” Charon stumbled sideways, nearly falling over her, pulling his sleeves over his hands and wiping himself off as if covered in cobwebs. Ira scrambled down from the vines and gasped as she skittered back from where she’d landed.

“What are you doing?” Asherah shoved Charon back and looked at Ira, confused ever more by her tandem frantic dance. “What’s wrong with you two?”

“Are you serious?” Charon shot a darkened glare in reply. “What does it look like we’re doing? There’s a nest of poisonous frogs around us. Look at them.” He gestured to the small yellow amphibians settling on the green leaves in the dark foliage of the forest floor.

“They’re poisonous?”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Charon groaned and stood up. He slid his hands into his pockets and looked around. “Well, I guess we should make camp. We’ll be here a while.”

“What about Callan?” She set her hand on his chest. There wasn’t even a faint beat. Her mind raced to the worst places. If he died, it would slow down their entire campaign. Healing from death was cumbersome and time-consuming; and the last thing she wanted was to spend days on end waiting for him to come back, stuck in an ostensibly uninhabited moss ball of a world.

“He’ll be fine once his heart starts up again.” Ira smiled softly.

Charon smirked. “I’ll start making camp. Keep the frogs away from him.”

Asherah frowned, her shoulders sinking. She would be lucky if they let her live this down. Poisonous frogs, as cute as they were, made terrible pets. Shoving the dried foliage aside, she made herself comfortable against the tree and shooed away the toxic critters as they hopped around. Callan remained cold and still. There hadn't been so much as a shallow breath for the better part of several hours. Ira collected sticks, flowers, and assortments of herbs she described as perfect for cooking. She and Charon spoke quietly, tending to the makeshift camp. As the sunlight faded, they started a fire and handily prepared some food, when at last Callan moved. Rolling to his side, he whimpered, sore from lying flat for too long and shooing away the ringlets of dark shade that had in his resurrection collected around him.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Charon cooed from the camp, his arms draped around Ira while she busily tended to the skewered fish over the fire.

Callan shoved up from the ground. “Not right now,” he grumbled and waved a hand, shutting one eye as he tried to make sense of where he was and what had happened. "Fuck…"

“Don’t push yourself,” Asherah said, taking hold of his shoulders. “You’re still recovering.”

“From what?” Confusion filled his face as he tried to look at her, his head too heavy and his eyes yet unable to focus. He hissed and sank forward, leaning his weight against her.

“You were… poisoned.”

“By what?”

“Frogs,” she squeaked, grimacing in anticipation.

He groaned and forced himself up. “I fucking hate frogs.”

Ira looked over from the fire, clasping her hands over her knees. “Actually, all amphibians are poisonous to some degree. Some more than others. It’s most commonly found in their mucous, coating their skin and keeping them moist. It’s a great defense mechanism against predators.”

“Gross. Poison snot.” Callan rubbed his head as he tried to find his bearings. “And they have weird eyes, too.”

“I thought they were cute,” Asherah pouted.

Callan inhaled, sharp and deep, and sat fully upright. She eyed him as if she didn’t particularly care how he was doing, viciously sore from the rejection of her would-have-been pets, but we both knew she cared more than she let on. Dying was uncomfortable, but hearing him complain about a poor choice of pets when he had a Wyrm he toted from world to world rubbed her the wrong way and even the slightest show of sympathy would have invited his opinions on the matter. If that wasn’t enough, his pet came with a pet—not that I had ever once thought anything poor of Ira, but it seemed a little unfair. He had a pet, with a pet, and I didn’t have any at all!

Even worse was the amount of care Charon required. He was borderline attention-starved and acted up like a spoiled child when we were at our busiest. And Ira was so sick that she wasn’t much use to us most of the time. On top of that, Charon didn’t follow directions very well. He was a lousy pet. I didn’t understand why Callan kept him and had the audacity to complain about a handful of frogs with a better defense mechanism than Charon’s go-to audacity.

Asherah folded my arms, refusing to let go of her upset and disappointment. Callan reached over and took her jaw between his thumb and finger and turned her head to reclaim her attention. She pouted, avoiding his gaze. Arching an eyebrow, he gave a darkened stare. “Are you really going to stay upset about frogs?”

“No,” she bitterly admitted, pulling her head free and turning away. “But it’s not fair. I want a pet, too.”

“I’m not a pet,” Charon chimed in.

Callan leaned to the side, his face full of disinterest and lack of any semblance of sympathy. “You are, actually. Your tether’s your leash.”

Charon scoffed and resumed poking the embers and burning log with a stick. Ira giggled as she continued cooking the bit of food they’d caught. She sank against his chest, tilted her head back, and pressed a delicate kiss to the underside of his jaw. Asherah blew hard through her nose, disgusted by the ease of their quiet affections, and scooted away until she pushed fully against the tree. One day, she would find someone or something suited to her the way Charon did Callan. Hopefully, hers, she considered, would behave better and with less… there was a word for it. She couldn’t think of what it was, but it was on the tip of her tongue. It would come to her later.

Shifting against the tree, she grunted, uncomfortable with the rough surface. And before I knew it, the trees were gone and in their place were tall marble pillars and an echoing hall full of people…