At 3:12 the Mountain Man met the Frog King.
They agreed to meet halfway between their lands, so the Mountain Man wouldn’t venture into the Pond Kingdom and the Frog King wouldn’t need to hop up the Mountain. Their vassals (or toadies, in the King’s case) helped deliver the messages for the agreeable meeting time.
And so the two mighty lords laid eyes upon one another on equal footing, with no pond water or incline to fear, there in the great Meadow where there were no Men nor Kings but grass below and sky above.
“Hail,” said the Frog King, ribbiting mightily. His crown bounced on his regal green head when he hopped to meet the Man.
“Ho there,” roared the Mountain Man, his heels still not used to the flat ground.
It was 3:12, and the sun was still high over the plains when the blades clashed together. “Crashed” may be the wrong word. “Scraped” might be better, since the little frog, though mighty and kingly, was still a little frog, and had for a sword a sharpened nail, which was quite inferior in size and sturdiness to the Mountain Man’s woodsman’s axe.
But the frog was as quick as he was little, and even though his nail sword barely grazed the axe, he himself hopped briskly out of the way of the heavy blow. The axe sunk into the meadowland soil deep, and the frog stuck the man’s hand quick, right between his first and second knuckle.
A mountainous roar erupted from the massive bearded man, and in a fury he let go of the axe and tried to swat the good King with a broad palm twice the breadth of the frog’s whole body. And when the hand came flat to the ground the frog was elsewhere–a horizontal hopper was he–and before the Mountain Man could even spot the King in the high grass the frog hopped straight onto the nail that was protruded in the man’s knuckle.
Another roar! This time less furious, and more sleepy. The pond poison was taking hold. But the Mountain Man was still alert enough to swipe his other hand over the nail and catch–just barely–the Frog King mid jump.
Oh how the man squeezed! The frog’s eyes bulged even farther than usual. He just had to hold out a little longer…
And when the Mountain Man’s great heavy back struck the flat of the meadow, the Frog King spilled from his slackened palm with a full chin-bubble sigh of relief.
The Mountain was his now.
Today’s three prompt categories were, “The Frog King,” “Mountain Man,” and “3:12.”
I prefer frog knights.