"Fine," I say. "Show me this tower of yours."
The frog crawls backwards. I didn't realise they could do that.
"Come right this way, please," it says.
There's bite in its voice even if it has no actual teeth and no way of doing any damage. I'm tempted to squash it. I'm tempted to walk away and never come back. I don't need the mess or more diversions from getting back to the hen party. Can it still be called a hen party the morning after?
"Please," says the frog. "Don't let us stop you from going about your busy day. But if you have five minutes, you're welcome to visit."
I don't know how to get back to the hen party.
"Then you'd better come up, then, hadn't you?" says the frog.
It looks over at my guide. "And you'd better come along, too, dear."
My guide does not reply but, after a pause, the frog adds. "I understand. I know it wasn't you."
Then the frog shuffles and turns around so that it can crawl back the way it came.
"That one should follow the Wizard," my guide hisses.
It's not like the frog is going very far very fast, but I take a step forward. And see that they frog is further ahead than I thought. So I take another step. And it's like the frog is bigger than I thought, or faster than I thought, or further way than I thought. I can't tell.
"Run!" I think I hear my guide say.
But I'm too busy staring after the frog and trying to put one foot after another fast enough to reply or look back. Just what sort of hangover-induced hallucination is this?
"Keep up," the frog calls out.
And I'm running after the frog like it's about to disappear from sight in the trees, despite there being no more trees than there wee before. Is it me or are the fallen leaves getting bigger? And the tree trunks... can trees grow that fast? This can't be real.
It waits for us at the end of the carefully paved path I hadn't realised we were on in front of an arched wooden door in a stone wall that's I daren't look up and see how high. The tower. A dream.
"Real enough," says the frog.
Only it isn't a frog any more. It's a he. A handsome, well-built he with a cloak like the little doll thing's. Is this... guilt? For a figment of my imagination?
"I doubt it," says the ex-frog, "but it's nice of you to admit your crime. Again."
He swings the door open and gestures for me to walk in before him.
"Come on, slow worm," he calls to my guide behind me as I walk past. Then, to me, "Right up the stairs."
There's a spiral staircase, stone steps that curl around the hollow centre of the tower to as high up as I can clearly make out. "Just".
The frog laughs. "Better get hopping, then," he says.
"Hopping," I mutter.
I start climbing and don't have the breath to curse at the frog or my guide when they both trot past me.