A Small Green Ripple

I pushed past a clump of damp clover along the edge of the path. Ahead, perched on the rim of a ribbed plastic splash block, sat a tiny green tree frog. I halted immediately, keeping my claws pressed flat against the gravel. We remained motionless for a long time, studying each other. I exhaled a slow, low breath, and the air whistled faintly through my side vents. The frog blinked, tilted its head, and kicked off, landing squarely atop my curved clay shell with cool, sticky webbed toes before leaping away into the wet ferns.