Blackfeather Woods don't trust people you meet

AW

the toad astara had beleaguered for near two weeks had finally croaked -- pun intended. astara had fallen asleep with its form trapped in her salivating mouth, and awoken with its soft hide stiff as oaken bough.

she prodded the contorted form dubiously, her little claws poking at the white, round underside. when she flipped its stretching form over its eyes stared back up at her, sightless and unblinking.

she was not used to catching the gaze of the dead, and for a moment quailed under its wide stare. then, remembering it was her toy and not some spectral horror come to visit her, started batting its tormented body around not unlike a cat.