Before the sun was able to rise the next day, Mago and I set off for the Mangrove Mound. I’d never been awake at this hour save for the nightmares, but I’m at a loss for words.

Without any magic or candle lighting polluting the area, the night sky was filled with bright streaks of purples and blues accented by the white speckles of stars. I try to find the scant few constellations sailors had taught me, but to no avail. In fact, the Northern Stars—which me and Escyra drilled in our minds to recognize—were nowhere to be seen. Unrecognizable nebulas filled the skies. Amongst the strange and mysterious expanse, only the moon served as a familiar face.

Sounds of crickets echo from the darkness. Fireflies zip about, dancing like the stars on the dark reflective water. Floating as I am, it’s as if I’m amidst an endless river of night—beautiful, yet lonely.

Typically after feeding hour the Grouak’s raise such a racket that I’d never been able to really appreciate the swamp’s night sky. As if reading my mind, a deep croak snaps me away from my thoughts.

“Abra, you have been staring at the sky for too long. We are here. Do you have the starry-eyes?”

“Ah, uh…” looking around I realize that the lily pad has been stopped and mangrove roots dipped into the water in front of me. I was staring straight up into the darkness that I didn’t realize. Standing up and brushing myself off, I reply, “No I’m fine. I just haven’t seen a sky that clear in such a long time is all. You don’t notice when feeding hour is so loud.”

Mago nods, “Mago agrees it is beautiful, but be careful. Stare at the darkness too long, and it will stare back and make you mad. We call that ‘starry-eyes’, but I believe humans call it ‘moon sickness’. Have you heard of it? It is worse than staring at the sun.”

“Interesting. I’ve never seen it personally but doesn’t moon sickness only set in after a few hours?” Thinking back on my academy days, diviners and astrologers always gave similar warnings. The reason being anyone that looked up into the night sky for over six hours at a time always went insane with no exception. No one ever knew why, but it was a well documented phenomena among their field. Ten minutes of rest was usually enough to curb symptoms, however.

“Maybe for you, but not for us,” he grunts. “Ten minutes become a hundred, and then you never return.”

“Duly noted,” I reply sincerely. Though his warning may stem from Grouak race’s magic affinity, I can’t rule out that it’s an effect of the swamp. Maybe it’s the water? Snow reflects the sun and gives sunburns in cold climates, so maybe this was similar.

Entering the clearing, I spot six froggy silhouettes and two balls of light. I recognize three. Two are my magic students; a deep blue Grouak named Daru, Haro’s older brother, and another with dirty orange skin named Gando. The latter holds a floating ball of light for the crouching figure of Gebo who is drawing a map in the dirt. All stand at attention as Mago and I approach.

Eying them all up and down, Mago speaks, “Good, you all seem to be ready. Mago is pleased everyone was able to come. You have Mago’s gratitude that you are willing to help our visitor return home.”

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An albino Grouak hops over to me replying, “Of course. Jambo was already helping Abra. Jambo likes seeing things through. My name is Jambo by the way. Jambo the Jumper.” Jambo holds out a hand in greeting.

“A pleasure,” I say taking his hand. “I know it’s our first time meeting but your reputation precedes you. I can’t thank you enough for helping scout the path with Gebo beforehand.”

“KE-KE-KE. No need for thanks or praise Abra. Gebo is strong sure, but he can never find his way. I’m the only reason he makes it back from his long hunting trips,” he teases.

Gebo scoffs.

I look to the remaining two I don’t recognize. “And you might the rest of you be.”

A muscular Grouak with dark green skin and red eyes stares at me. “OOOUU,” a rumbling comes from his throat before he opens his mouth and reveals a severed tongue. The lines of the scars looked reminiscent of a burn.

Jambo picks up for him, “That’s Rouk. One of the strongest in the village. He can punch, kick, and throw harder than any of us. You won’t find anyone as good as him. Poor Rouk lost his tongue to a water bird, but back when he had it he could stun a croc with a single flick.”

Rouk nods seemingly pleased with his introduction.

“Oh, and the gloomy one blending with the darkness-…” Jambo continues but is cut off by a black Grouak that would have perfectly melded with the darkness if not for crimson eyes reflecting off Gando’s light.

“Can speak without help,” the black frog bows his head. “I am Tuuk. I can hear all things near whether it is in air or swamp. And I can also be quiet and subtle unlike a certain legs for brain over there that can’t help but announce to all where he is.”

Jambo lets his tongue hang loose from his mouth and gives Tuuk a silly look, “You’re just jealous that Jambo sometimes takes your kills because you can’t reach them.”

Tuuk rolls his eyes, “You would not have been able to know where those kills were without me telling you. The only reason suckers fly is because you let them all know you are there.”

Jambo seems to ready a retort, but Gebo clears his throat and all bring their attention to him. “Ahem. In any case, now that we all said greetings, let us go over the plan.”

Before Gebo, he had drawn a makeshift map in the dirt arranged in a sort of square. Some recognizable shapes dot the drawing. A single frog, a mosquito, two crocodiles, two snakes, and several clouds. A dotted line I assume to be our path runs through small circles heading northeast before doubling back southwest, then proceeding northwest.

He points at the frog in the southwest. “This is the tribe. Going northwest, we will hit foggy swamp. Inside we will find many tree islands and we will be using those to rest at night. Many crocs are in the area and they too like the trees, but Gebo, Tuuk, and Jambo have been hunting there for the last three days to clear some out.” Following his finger, two crocodile heads sit parallel to a cloud. Two circles I take to represent the tree clusters sit within. “The best islands on the path should be empty now.”

“After about three days of travel, we will begin to see mud mounds. This is near the border, but we will not go here. Giant snakes call it home,” he says pointing to a snake in the northwest, “so we will go southwest back to the fog until it breaks again. Here, there are also snakes, but the giant ones should not be nearby.” West of his dirt drawing is another snake.

Trailing his finger straight north, Gebo points to a mosquito before what looks like blades of grass. He taps it saying, “And this is our goal. Living is low if we were to attack the snakes in the west, but the suckers we can smoke and make drunken. It should be easy with a group our size.”

Gebo stands and looks around, “We plan on keeping fighting to a minimum. The crocs may be quick to anger, but they are easy to fight if we stay careful and keep near Tuuk who can hear them. The snakes should not bother us unless we provoke them. Any questions?”

None arise as all—including myself—seem to be taking in the plan and burning the map into our memories.

Mago stamps his feet to the floor and croaks, “Great, then we set off at once.”