CHAPTER SEVEN
My eyes widened. “They. . .werewolves don’t eat talking frogs, do they?”
“They would be quite the rare delicacy,” he mused.
“But that’s disgusting!” My outburst caught the attention of many around us. I shrank beneath the curious eyes and didn’t say anything until we passed them. “So what do you propose we do with them?”
“They might be useful in the marshes,” he told me.
I c****d my head to one side. “I know they’re frogs, but are you sure about that? I mean, what are they going to do, start singing a lullaby to the wicked lamps?”
“Our wet acquaintances may be able to find a snake in the water better than we,” he pointed out.
“If they’ll help us,” I countered.
He grinned at me. “Then let’s go ask them.”
“So where did they take the frogs?” I wondered as we mean
