Long ago, there lived a Frog so unbelievably huge, his croak could shake rain from the clouds. He was the undisputed King of all the wet and liminal places in the world. Where the demarcation between water and earth lay muddied, the Frog King was undisputed lord and master.
His tongue could strike across oceans. His great gullet and cavernous maw swallowed stars from the sky. When he set his ponderous bulk to leaping, mountains meant nothing; when the Frog King crashed back to earth, the very heavens shuddered in their pillars.
The world was quite wet, then. Almost the whole globe lay within his control. A multitude of creatures in an unthinkable number of voices swore allegiance or alliance to the swarming hordes of the Frog King.
In the Empty Desert, the First Scorpion was dreadfully alone. She was untouched by the scorching sun; she was brightly polished by the fierce wind and scouring sands; she was armored against all things. She was unaffected and all alone.
Scorpion grew so alone she shattered her mind into pieces. She put part into her claws and part into each leg and here and there she scattered small parts of herself into the very stones. And lastly, the tiniest sliver she thrust into her poisonous tail. The silence of the Desert was broken. The separated pieces gained their own voices. The Scorpion was no longer alone.
The Frog King heard this and sent many wet messengers. All were dried away to nothing in the unforgiving Desert sands. The Frog King grew furious and called forth a teaming army to trample ‘cross the once Empty waste...