Sawtooth Spire i've heard about this frog, it's a very tiny frog, but it's also very special

Stag nodded austerely, his long ears flat as he inferred: "That's a clownfoot promise." He'd bring her dandelions every day -- as long as they were around. Like before, sticks would have to suffice when things got lean, and summer faded to winter - but he could deal with that then, not now.

Being almost-adult, Stag had a bit of that older-than-thou-shrewdness lingering as he watched Phaedra wriggle forward on her belly, crushing the last surviving bubbleflower; ah well -- it had plenty of kith to spread its legacy. He mirrored her worm-crawl, resigning to his belly when she suddenly reared off like a colt in frolic; blinking as her paws rapped his nose, Stag delayed his chase just long enough to give the little scallywag a headstart. "Kiss chase?" He parroted back, grasping the concept of the game immediately by its tell-tale name. Oh, if that's the game she wanted to play.

Surging after the fleetfooted bubble-stomper, Stag made every effort to appear as if he were running as fast as he was able without allowing the distance between them to dwindle. As Phaedra's form bobbled and weaved between the sapling studded copse, Stag gave a playful growl and a fierce "Immagetchu!!" as he gave chase.