His Inside was Red-Hot
The French Frog might have scored a point, but prudence checked him.
"I am a poor exile, Sire," he said, "and, when I sing, my heart is far away."
"So will your voice be, soon," said the King affably. "Come out, fire-toads." The fire-toads squirmed from underneath him.
The French Frog eyed them greedily. There are worse eatables than little toads.
"You may have the big one," said the King.
"Sire!" screamed Bombinatrix.
But she was too late. The French Frog's mouth had closed again, and all now visible of Bombinator was one distraught hind leg.
