“
I have a horror that I will fall,” he told her conversationally, using the axe handle to lever a twisted trunk aside. “And one of these stubs that I’ve left will catch me in the thigh, right where the big artery is, and I will bleed out before I can finish cursing. And even then I will probably apologize for having cursed. My last words will be I’m sorry.
Toadling croaked a laugh. It was funny and it hurt, because she was nearly certain that her last words would also be I’m sorry, or perhaps just stammering as she tried to get an apology out.
“Ah, you are a toad again.” He swung the axe, then grunted as the blade bound into the dead wood and he had to wiggle it loose. “It’s for the best, I suppose. Toads probably don’t trip and fall and impale themselves on broken branches. I am feeling guilty enough for having bothered you. If you tripped on a branch, I would likely expire from guilt. The Brother Librarian said that I was almost guilt-ridden enough to join a monastery, but our faith does not have an equivalent. And if I expired from guilt, my mother would be very upset, and I would have to feel guilty about that, too. I’m babbling now, aren’t I?”
“Somewhat,” said Toadling, turning back into a human in a little space in the thorns.
“I thought so. I do that when I don’t know what to say. I talk to fill spaces. I’m a wretched liar. Although a good liar would probably say that, wouldn’t they?
”
”
T. Kingfisher (Thornhedge)