untitled childrens novel

CHAPTER 1: Relative Movement.

The toad sat, aplomb, quiet, collected, by a stream, smoking citronella tobacco leaves in his hand-crafted ivory pipe. From two ghoulish yellow orbs he watched with a stoic sincerity, the river, and listened to its quiet whisper of forward progress. Low spindled fog rose off the water and met with the pipe’s smoke to be carried off down stream with the dawdling current. It was a morning of occasion, for it was his birthday, and like all things that are endowed to move forward so did the driftwood world of water gliding insects dancing on the waters skin along with the twigs and autumn’s leaves; all caught entangled, swirling and whirling about, living within the river. And to this particular toad, having been birthed from the very brook he now watched, it was pleasing to reminisce on life’s journey thus far. For, having once been nothing but a lowly pollywog not three years earlier he knew what life was like in the river, and being a seasoned toad he knew what life was like out of it. And upon such an auspicious morning as it was, the sun shone a little brighter on the brook at Mandrakes Estate.

“Mr. Mandrake, it appears you have slipped past time once again my old friend”, said Morton the neighboring newt.
“Ah, sure nonsense, sir, it is my disposition to remain wrinkled and warty, you never can tell a toads age by just looking at him, you always know by the cane they are carrying,” retorted Mr. Mandrake whimsically.
“Ah!, well I should have given you a cane for your birthday two years ago! Well, nonetheless, the happiest of birthdays to you” replied Morton.