Long ago, when the world was still damp and half-finished, the Moon dropped a bead of silver light into a murky swamp.
Where it landed, the mud bubbled and two shapes climbed out side by side:
- one with long ears and clever claws,
- one with bulging eyes and slippery legs.
The Moon whispered: “You are both my children. One to laugh too loud, one to sing too low. One to sneak fire, one to drink rain. You will live apart, but always know each other.”
The first became goblins, the second became frogs.
Ever since, whenever a goblin croaks while laughing, or a frog cackles while leaping, the Moon smiles—because her children are still in on the joke.
Frogs carry the goblins’ stories in their throats and croak them across the marshes, where anyone with the right kind of ears will hear them ripple through the night.
And THAT, my friend, is why goblins can never stay mad at frogs, even when they steal our marshmallows.
And why, on certain nights, if you listen closely, you’ll hear the frogs laughing… and the goblins answering.
And finally, why frogs will always keep our secrets, even when they ribbit so loudly that everyone can hear.
