The Terrific Tale of Tibble the Tenacious Toad

In the woeful, winding woods lived a teeny tiny toad named Tibble. Though Tibble was terribly tiny, his courage was completely incorruptible.

The woods were ruled by the Whispering Wolf, whose voice could tiptoe inside a toad’s mind and twist their thoughts like tangled roots. The whispering wolf wanted everything. No more and no less. He howled, and he hungered; many a hero had met their maker in his maw.

Now that the winding woods was well in the Whispering Wolf’s claws, his evil eyes now turned towards the heavens. The magnificent moon that the Maker had made for all creatures from man to mouse, the wicked wolf now wanted for itself alone.

The timid beasts in the trees trembled in terror, or worse, were warped by the wolf's whispers.

Through each night the terrible thief sliced off a silver sliver of the moon. Until Tibble could take it no longer. He took up his great thistle-thorn sword, retrieved his reed flute from its wrack, then waddled over to where his well-worn walnut helmet had been held. Placing it on his head, he hurried from his home.

With a hop that was half heroic, half hope, Tibble tottled along the treetop trail, determined to destroy the wolf before the last silver sliver slid into darkness.

But where does one find a wolf when the woods were so wide and winding, while Tibble was simply short, slight and small.

Tibble thought to trek towards the oldest thing in the trees, the Yew That Knew. Whose roots ran deeper than rock and whose branches had brushed the bright Big Dipper.

But no one could know what the Yew knew without first giving a glorious gift.

Everyone knew the Yew was ancient, avaricious, and angry. So impossibly picky that it would only parley if presented with a gift both precious and impossible.

Though Tibble was teensy, he was also tenacious. He would win the whereabouts of the wolf with a wonderful whatsit. As soon as he sussed out something special.

So he thought thoroughly and dramatically deliberated. Until adrift in dreary dreams, he woke to the wonder of a welcoming sunrise.

Tibble decided to deliver the dawn itself, but how could he hold all its horrendous heat? What container could capture the sun’s stupendous strength? Perhaps a woven web would do. He would surrender to the Yew a sunbeam in a silken sack. He wanted a web that could already adhere to the air, and be tough enough to tote through twisted tangles of thorns. He would need a net knitted by the water witch. A dangerous decision for such a dainty, delectable toad.

For the water witch brooded beneath Blackglass Pond, a place so perilous that panic itself was palpable. It was said the witch wove her webs from the dying breath of those she decided to drown.

Tulimon the turtle could hold his breath three times as long as Tibble. He couldn't swim as fast as his friend Frederick the frog either. Some said he was the least of all cold-blooded creatures, but his heart beat burned brighter than any bullfrog or basilisk.

So he paddled past lily pads to the pond's center. Far below, the silver bubble palace beckoned. Tibble took a big breath and swam down into the baleful, brackish depths of blackglass pond.

Down and down and down he went until the bubble palace drew near. He picked up his flute and played a pretty melody. The music moved within him, a lovely lilting sound filled with longing.

From the dark depths, eight emerald eyes appeared. The water witch wondered aloud, “Why in the wide world would a tiny toad dare deign to disturb my solitude and fill my silken home with song?”

Tibble tooted one last trembling note. His lungs ached for air, but still he spoke. “Because even the darkest depths deserve a dirge, and the queen of Blackglass should have a ballad to her beauty.”

At this, the water spider laughed long and loud. Something about the song had filled her jeweled head with hope and happiness for the first time in forever. “Can so tiny a tidbit hold such a chivalrous heart?” She said, “And dare you, dear dulcet, ask this queen for a dance?”

Tibble bowed so totally that he touched his toes. “Wondrous woman, even were I to drown in the waltz, I would wake happy in heaven to have only held your hand.”

“You delight me dear toad. I demand you do not dare drown for your devotion,” the spider spoke. “Allow me to lead you, little love. Bring your brilliant ballad into my bubble boudoir.”

The spider swam forward and swept the sodden toad into her silken halls. The silver shine of her home refracted even the slightest of light until it shone like the mid-month moon. And there for the first time, Tibble beheld the belle of Blackmirror in all her beauty.

Her delicate body, the deep green of drowned emeralds. Her long legs luxuriously banded in bold blue on black. Upon her glossy head glimmered a gorgeous coronet, each silken strand strung with droplets that shone like stars no sky had seen in centuries.

"I must plead for your pardon, my precious princess," said Tibble taking a knee. "I hopped here in hopes of a haversack, but now would glean no greater gift than to glance at your glory.”

The water witch stared in wide wonder. For such a long time she had sat in sad silence, now, seeing someone she should have considered a snack speak such sweet words melted her to the marrow. Her many eyes softened as she wove a silken silver sack strong enough to capture sunshine. “I give you both my bold balladeer,” she beamed, “a bag to bind the light with my blessing, and my company to carry you through this cold, crooked world.”

Without waiting, Tibble walked up and wrapped his hand around hers. Then the wonder-struck lovers wove through a waltz of web. He spun her in each silken room and filled their surroundings with sweet sighs.

The pond's pretty princess drummed time with her pedipalps while Tibble's flute took up the tune. Their song reverberated into ripples that rode along the water until love's first light pierced through the pond's surface and poured its pleasure into the night.

Fish froze mid-flicker, birds bowed their heads to its beauty, and even weeping willows leaned closer in wonder, their long locks languishing in the pond's peculiar pulse.

And for a while, one wistful part of the woeful winding woods knew the pure power of peace and passion.

But peace, like porcelain, is a frustratingly fickle, fragile thing. Far beyond the pond’s proud perimeter, the Whispering Wolf wailed out his wrath at the strange, sweet song that dared to defy his darkness.

He muttered words of magic to his menagerie. Each hellish hiss drove their hearts to hysteria. Then he commanded the corrupted creatures to catch the cretinous culprits.

Through sourwood and shrubbery they slithered and skittered. Foxes with flaming fur, owls whose wings warped the wilderness, and porcupines with poisonous pins, all peered toward the pond’s bright heart.

Meanwhile, Tibble took leave of his lady love. With cooing caresses, he kissed her gently on all eight hands. He left his flute for his fair fiancée and, as her favor, took the shining silver sack of silk.

With one last glance at her glimmering grandeur, he popped free of the bubble palace and paddled toward the pond's surface with his pouch.

He burst upward, breaking the surface of Blackmirror though the name barely fit it now. The water shone brightly from inside like burnished bronze, as bashful bears and beguiling beavers began to wade into the welcoming waters.

Tibble’s heart swelled at the serene scenery. He scarcely believed this fabulous forest was the same fearful, feral place he had heretofore called home, but his genuine joy was unjustly jeered by the terrifying thralls that came thrashing from the trees.

Tibble would not see the sacred sanctuary of his spider sweetheart desecrated by the dark desires of the dire wolf’s whispers. He took up his thistle thorn in tiny hands and led the terrible thralls through the twisting terrain.

He raced between reeds and roots, bounded over brooks, brambles, and boulders, every daring dash drawing the darkness further from the fabulous female he had fallen for.

Though some of the feral freaks fell behind in his furious flight, the slimy slithering serpent's would not be dissuaded. They blasted through bramble and branch, hell-bent on binding, breaking, and biting Tibble the trusty toad.

Racing toward a ridge where the rows of trees thinned, Tibble was thankful to see the sky suddenly brighten with sunrise. His daring plan? To delay the dangerous denizens of death until dawn. A desperate gamble for the greater good. He supposed that if the sun struck his silver sack, it would blaze like a burning blade of light.

He crested the clearing as the sun crept from the clouds jumping joyfully just as the jabbering jaws of the striking serpents snapped shut behind him. Wielding his web weapon like a butterfly net and binding a beam of blinding light in its bowels.

The pouch swelled with the pure power of its prismatic prisoner. Tibble turned, threatening the terrified thralls. Then he beat the bag against a boulder, and a blazing beam burst forth. Like a shimmering sword, it sliced through both serpent and shadow in one stupendous swipe.

Though Tibble had thrashed the thralls thoroughly, he roared in wrath when he realized how much the retiring moon had been mauled and mangled. Its languishing lunar light was less than half what it once was when his wild adventure began.

He had hoped to have time to show his sack of sun to the spider that had stolen his heart, but our half-pint hero would have to hurry to the Yew that knew before the last silver shard of the moon was swallowed by the wolf’s slavering jaws.

He would need to bound over the Bracken Bridge, where even the boards bite back, and hop past the Horrendous Hills, where haunting howls echo with hate.

Every day he defied death and, in the darkness, dared not dream. Until at long last he loped into the land where the Yew that knew loomed.

Once it grew in a garden grove, great and green, but now its gnarled, nobby trunk shared with nothing. Its roots had removed all room for everything else to enjoy in the earth. The terrible tragedy of the tree is that it had thoroughly forgotten all the friends that once filled the field before it.

Tibble tottered towards the tree, his shimmering sack of sun held high. " Oh towering tree, your talents for thought are known throughout the terrain. I would welcome word of the whispering wolf if you would find my gift worthwhile."

The Yew’s countless crevices cracked open, curious who had come into his court. His restless roots regarded Tibble with regal disdain. “Some small speck sees fit to speak to its sovereign?” it said slowly. “What possible present could you proffer peculiar enough to complete my colossal collection?”

“A silken sack of sunshine from my sweetheart, for you, sovereign sage,” said Tibble.

The Yew yawned. “You dumb little dullard, from dawn to dusk every day the sun simply shines on my shoulders. Why would I give the whereabouts of the whispering wolf for such a worthless whatsit?”

The Yew that knew named Tibble a knave and closed its knots, no longer noticing the kneeling toad. Tibble trembling with trepidation, turned to take his leave, but then he thought to tarry. The Yew seemed satisfied with simple sunshine, yet his silken sack might still succeed.

Tibble pondered the problem. He perceived that the Yew had plentiful possessions, yet what point is a plethora of princely pieces without a pal to share in the pleasure?

“Oh, most enormous of Ents I entreat you,” echoed Tibble’s croaking cry, “I fear you may find me a fool, but I feel it a folly that in all the forest you have no friends.”

“You dare deign to deride my dignity?” The Yew yelled. “I have companions… a conifer as I recall… I can’t quite remember what he was called… Carl, maybe Caleb… seems like a century ago.”

Suddenly, something like sadness seemed to surround the Yew. With a sigh, he surrendered.

“Not even a fir as a friend, or a maple as a mate.” The Yew muttered morosely.

Tibble tip-toed towards the tender tree. “I mean to marry a marvelous spider in March. It would make me more than merry if at my marriage you were the best man… I mean tree.”

A tear of sap slithered slowly down the tree's trembling trunk. “You sweet simpleton,” the Yew said serenely, “I will surely stand beside you, if you would be willing to have your wedding here in my woods.”

Tibble bowed. “I will bring my beautiful bride, and then we will find ourselves all fast friends at the festivities.”

“Bravo, brave bumbler! the Yew yodeled. “The Whispering Wolf waits in the Hollow Between Howls, where darkness is the only drink, and dread the only dinner.”

Tibble thanked the tree and began to waddle away. Then he waited. With his weapon, he worked a hole in the wet earth where the wide roots waned. With a wink, he removed his walnut helm and planted it with a purposeful pat. Then he surrendered his silken sack of sunshine, pouring the pure power onto the place where soon a green shoot grew gigantic.

“Until I return, this simple sapling will suffice as companion and confidant, if you care to call it your own.”

The Yew stared at the sapling. Its sinuous roots shifted as it chose to share its surroundings with someone else.

Tibble turned and tottered away with a silly smile and the strength of friendship. The tiny toad took the twisting path to the Hollow Between Howls. Behind him, the Yew and walnut too, now sheltered the forest's frightened fauna.

But in the wild, winding wold the Whispering Wolf was dreadfully disturbed and distressed. A blinding beacon burst from the Yew that knew. Again, some damnable desperado dared disturb his dreams.

“If my servants won't suffice,” the wolf snarled, “then I will trick the hero into traipsing through a trap. I will catch this conniving crusader and crush him in my claws”

So the Whispering Wolf wove a weird and willful weapon and called it a Wendigo. It waited outside the Hollow Between Howls a gruesome, gaunt and grinning thing that could tangle Tibble’s thoughts until he forgot both friend and foe.

The heroes hops grew heavy, as the trees thinned and the thorns thickened. From somewhere in the strange silence came the crestfallen cry of some poor creature. Tibble took up his thistle-thorn sword and rushed to the rescue in a red rage. But as he burst from the brambles, he found only the wicked Wendigo waiting.

Its rotten ribcage rose. Its bones burst up and bound Tibble, trapping him thoroughly. The Wendigo wound the wolf’s woeful whispers around the terrified toad’s thoughts.

It started by saying the sweet spider lied.

“Her love was a guileful game,” the Wendigo grinned, “and the Yew's friendship was a flagrant false flag. What creature could care for such a teeny tiny toad? How could a willful wog like you ever worry the Whispering Wolf?”

Tibble’s grip on his thistle thorn trembled; his terrified thoughts wound tighter and tighter. Then, faintly, the first fruit of freedom fell. He remembered the waltz in the water. The passion in his princesses pedipalps. His buddy, the Yew’s branches bending to embrace as best friends, and the strength of the walnut seedling smiling in the sun.

Tibble thrust his thistle thorn piercing through all his perceived problems. Then he threw the thorn through the wailing Wendigo’s wayward, wicked heart, where they both burst in a baleful blaze.

Now without web, weapon or walnut. Without his fiancée's favor or flute, Tibble stepped beneath the single silver sliver remaining of the moon to where the Whispering Wolf waited.

Beneath a horrid hill, he found the hellish Hollow between Howls. Tiny Tibble the smallest of toads had traipsed through terrifying trees to finally find his fearsome foe. Unfortunately, he found the fiend with the final piece of the moon on his pernicious plate. The sky stood stark and empty. No lunar light lit up the Earth. And within the woeful, winding woods, true sadness sank into every soul.

The Wolf swallowed the silver succulent with a satisfied smile. Eyes gleaming with a ghastly glee. “You flew far, little flea, only to fail,” he purred. “Now prostrate yourself, you putrescent pest, for my power is complete.”

"You've won, oh wisest of wolves." Tibble told while tilting to his knees. "Only spare your servant, sire. I'm simply too small to be a snack."

The wolf’s wicked grin widened, savoring the sweet smell of surrender. His claws clicked closer, towering over tiny Tibble like a tree given teeth. “A sad snack you surely are,” the wolf seethed, “still I will swallow your spirit and strength before sealing you as my slave.”

The mountainous monster opened its mighty maw, seeking to suck the soul from the small toad.

Valiantly, Tibble vigorously vaulted into the vast jaws of the vicious wolf. The toad was teeny tiny enough to thread past its thrashing teeth. He threw himself down the thick throat, thoroughly thwacking the tonsils in passing, and falling into the foul depths to find what had been filched.

He slid through saliva, slick and stifling, into a stomach sparkling with shining silver. There he found the moon moored in a massive mound of meat, its brilliance bound by breath and bone.

Though terrifically tenacious, Tibble was too tiny to tote out the massive moon. So each night as the wolf slumbered, the small toad slunk out of its stomach past its snarling snores. He slung a sliver of silver over his shoulder and pulled a piece of pure moon past the beast’s baleful embrace, securing it in the sky behind the shadows from the sun.

The crescent he created continued to collect among the clouds. First a frail fingernail, gradually it grew into a glowing grin, and continued to coalesce into a cheerful coin. Within weeks, the Whispering Wolf awoke woefully weakened.

Near him knelt the noble toad knight, the remaining morsel of moon in his mighty grip. The moon's blessing made Tibble as big as a bull when he bounded into the battle.

The wolf’s strength stalled, and he staggered as he was stomped by Tibble’s furiously flailing feet. The wolf whimpered and whined as it was whacked by the toads webbed toes. Finally, the fiend fell before the light of the lunar lord. Tibble had totally triumphed toppling the terrible tyrant.

Tibble shrank back small as he released the last silver sliver, making the majestic moon finally full and free. As lovely lunar light lingered over the land, the little toad laughed and leaped back towards the loved one he longed for.

The beasts bowed as he bounded by. Swans sang sweet songs. Chipmunks chittered in the treetops, and deer danced among dandelions damp with dew.

From his princesses pretty pond to the glorious green glade of the Yew, in the whole of the wonderful winding wood, they all gave their thorough thanks to the tiny tenacious toad with the biggest brave, beautiful heart.