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“Papa will there be worms tomorrow?” As Molly posed her question the young girl hopped into a small, still forming puddle on her half of the sidewalk. Dirty, grey water with small black bits of grit splashed up a few inches from the force, some of it splattered onto the tops of her silver rubber boots as it fell back to the Earth. A walk to the pharmacy in what was less than pleasant weather for most; to Molly was a chance to play on sidewalks otherwise a tad too busy, grimy and dusty to be enjoyable normally.

“Perhaps,” Her father, several steps behind her and out of splashing range, replied evenly, his voice gave no false hope and offered no reason to be excited.

Molly knew it was because you didn’t see worms as much anymore, or so she’d been told, but then again she didn’t see a lot of any animals unless she went looking for them.

“It’s raining,” she pointed out as if the fact that millions of fat sparkling water droplets had slipped loose from the cloud blanketed sky had escaped her father’s notice. “Worms come out after the rain,” the words were said with great authority. Molly was young and small but she did know that the only time she ever saw fat, wriggly, pink and brown worms was after it had rained.

“Sometimes there are worms Molly and you are not to go out looking for them.”

Molly looked back over her shoulder and up into the steely blue eyes of her Papa, it looked like he was being serious today. The coppery haired young girl loved all things great and small and often turned her room into a temporary shelter for whatever unfortunate creatures she came across. Her Papa usually didn’t like this, stating that wild things belonged outside and nature would decide who got better and who didn’t. Of course then he’d hug her and smile and saying nothing else about it unless it had been more than week or she was feeding her stowaway more than scraps. Sometimes, her Papa was confusing.

They passed by the old faux red brick school building where her Papa taught. Molly longed for the day when she could attend the school, even if the building in question was past it’s prime and it’s poorly tended lawn was more thorny scraggly weeds than grass. Though as she looked at the currently empty and dark windowed school Molly thought about how very different her Papa’s work made him.

When he talked about work or was just getting home he seemed older and more tired. Molly would hide near the parlor doorway and listen to him tell her Mama about how students today didn’t want to learn, they wanted to go off and be soldiers because that was where the glory and money was if there was another war. He’d growl about not being able to teach true history that could be analyzed and still promote the Motherland, while Mama rubbed his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Her Papa worked hard but work didn’t seem to make him very happy.

It was only after dinner and on weekends that Molly’s Papa was the jovial man who read her stories and had indoor picnics with her while talking softly with Mama about “better times.”

The wet, hacking cough of a passing sallow skinned old woman cloaked in a drenched tattered shawl reminded Molly of why she and Papa were going to the pharmacy in the first place. Any cheer at puddle jumping and the possibility of worms she’d had was quickly washed away. Her Mama had a cough and fever, and they were supposed to pick up medicine for her. Molly didn’t normally go out for little errands like this but her Mama had wanted quiet to rest in for a bit and Molly’d been too fidgety today to stay inside and be still.

Though she didn’t know if it was true Molly blamed her mother’s current sickness on the reason she was no longer going to have a brother. She had been so excited for him forever ago when her Mama and Papa had told her she would have one and now it wasn’t going to happen. Molly still wasn’t exactly sure why, she only knew he was gone to heaven and no one was allowed to talk about because it made Mama cry. With nothing and no one else to blame Molly chose the sickness as her main culprit.

As a more somber mood overtook Molly, the girl became quiet and fell back into step directly beside her Papa. No smiles crossed her face as little holographic shop keeps waved and tried to lure her inside and she didn’t even argue when he asked her to wait outside the Pharmacy so it wasn’t as crowded. Instead Molly leaned against the side of the building under an awning and stared into another shallow puddle formed from runoff.

A plump and pale face sprinkled liberally with freckles stared back at her, her reflection’s light blue eyes peered back into her own as she looked at coppery red curls of hair that peeked out from under the hood of her raincoat. She looked a lot like her Papa, everyone said so and Molly agreed. Though his nose was a bit crooked and his hair darker than hers. Still, when she looked at herself Molly saw her Papa’s eyes and his freckles and she was pretty sure they smiled the same, though she had her mama’s dimples. Of course she could only see her reflection for a few seconds at a time before new streams of rain fell off the awning and into the water causing it to ripple and distort.

Over the sound of the rain slapping onto the sidewalk, street and awning Molly heard a unfamiliar, low, almost hoarse sound and jerked her head up suddenly to see what had made it. The girl had not expected to see a raggedly dressed child plastered against the side of an old, concrete building across the street. Or, moreover, while a random waif might be in such place and state she had never seen one quite like this before. Of course she’d also been taught to ignore the poor because there was nothing that could be done for them now. Her Mama and Papa explained that if you helped one you must help them all and that was simply not possible

Molly stepped forward to the edge of the curb to get a better look at the shivering child who seemed to be basking, head tilted up, in the rain despite being cold. The boy, for though he had a soft, sort of girly face, Molly was sure he was male, had rich green skin with black and almost elegant looking markings on his face as well as his forearms. It reminded Molly of her when her Mama put on special makeup for “important occasions” which usually lead to her going to bed early.

She wanted to go over and talk to the boy, to ask how he could have special makeup if he was so poor as to be only wearing what looked like patched castoff rags. Molly herself had never understood being poor because as her Papa said she’d been born with a whole silver cutlery set in her mouth. This was because her Mama’s family had been ‘rolling in it’ which was a weird way of saying they were rich. Molly had never really wanted for anything in her life and those worse off than her were subject of great curiosity.

Before Molly could make up her mind to cross the street without permission her father exited the store, a small plastic case under one arm. Immediately she grabbed the other and gave it a jarring shake while pointing across the street. “Papa, look he’s funny.” Her voice was low as not to alert other passersby, not that anyone else seemed to be paying the boy any attention.

“Molly, don’t be rude.” Her Papa chastised her then turned reluctantly look at who had captured her attention so.

“Papa you’re not supposed to stare, it’s rude,” Molly scolded in return as she watched him let his jaw hang open just a little while looking through the slowly ceasing rain at the shivering boy. He was a bit bigger than her but was crouched down to appear small and he seemed to be almost playing in the water pooling around him.

As her own curiosity got the better of her, especially since she was now almost sure the boy had slitted eyes, Molly darted across the slick, puddle laden street, though she had the sense to look both ways for vehicles first.

Clearly startled by the sudden motion and attention the boy leapt to his feet and backed away. He opened his mouth but instead of words it was an odd almost metallic sounding serious of croaks that came out.

That combined with what Molly could now see were clearly long toed and webbed feet, again rather elegant, told the girl enough to know finally what she was dealing with. This was no regular lost child or mutated orphan trying to eke out a simple existence in the mountain ringed town of Saltaire. This was one of those magical experimental frog princes she’d heard her mother talking about with Miss Claudia. Molly didn’t know much about them but she knew that they were frogs and also people at the same time and very very expensive.

Before her father could catch her and the older child could get further away she stretched out her arm and offered her hand to the frog boy. “Hi, I’m Molly, what’s your name?” Molly hoped if she seemed friendly enough she’d stop scaring the magical prince and also not attract the attention of anyone else who might want him.

The slick skinned boy paused and tilted his head as if considering the question then issued another short burst of low croaks.

Molly giggled then looked over her shoulder at her father who’d finally caught up to her. “Papa he doesn’t know how to talk right we have to take him home so you can teach him.” This was someone who needed him and couldn’t run away and be a soldier.

“No, your mother-“ He began.

“Mama still wants a boy” Molly countered as she cut him off and turned so she could better look between her Papa and the boy. “He’s a special boy,” She gestured to the long, translucent fin topped appendage half hidden behind the boy’s left leg. “He’s got a tail.” She wondered if it wagged when he was happy.

Hand still outstretched Molly shuffled closer to the web-footed boy who’s name she could not understand. “ Come here” she commanded with all the authority a girl of nearly six could have on a magical boy who was likely twice her age. “I’m taking you home.”

As the green skinned boy came closer, seemingly accepting her offer, Molly smiled. Her Mama might be sick but surely the magic frog prince boy would make her happy again and it was she who had found him.