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For a moment, one of them seemed to be the pale form
of Petal, and Aron had to remind himself that he had
secured her in her room. He was tempted to run back to the
cottage just to make sure, but the water was very low now,
and he would see everything soon enough.
Finally, though, as the water dropped to a depth of a
mere hand's span and the fish were bumping into each
other, many of them forced out and flopping about the
muddy shore, the two creatures began joining the frogs and
burrowing into the mud.
"No! Where are you going?" cried Aron, stepping
forward, his foot sinking in the mud with a slurp.
But the two forms burrowed deeper, even as the pond
became only a mud hole, leaving behind a mere trickle of a
stream that meandered among the stranded lily pads,
flopping fish, and stunned turtles, which just stood there
stupidly, not knowing which way to go. In the center of all
that was the writhing mud, as the two creatures dug down to
escape the lantern light, or the air, or Aron himself.
Eventually, the writhing slowed, the mounds flattened,
and the ground was still. All was quiet. Even the fish lay
exhausted, their gills opening and closing uselessly. Aron
felt cheated not to see the face of the creature whom Petal
had called "My love, my love," but he was satisfied that it
would be a problem no more
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