“Too slow, Grundel!” the green frogs would taunt, zipping past on lily-pad sleds. “Too fat to fly!”
Around the first bend (Whirlpool Gorge), the frogs screamed as they spun into a dizzying circle. Grundel simply walked through the bottom current, using his back legs to push off boulders like a squat, determined submarine. toad torrent
He didn’t float. He plodded —along the bottom of the torrent. “Too slow, Grundel
Grundel didn’t hesitate. He tucked his head, let gravity take him, and landed in the deep pool below with a sound like a dropped boulder. KER-PLOONK. The wave he created washed the remaining racers onto the muddy bank. He didn’t float
The frogs laughed. The newts held their tiny sides. “You’ll sink!” they cried.
This year, though, the race was different. A rumor slithered through the cattails: the prize was a single, perfect, jewel-like fly—a Glitterwing , whose taste could make a toad forget his own name. Grundel, who had never forgotten a single fly in his life, felt a deep, gurgling hunger.