“ABRAAA! GRANPAAAA!” shouts the spear wielding Grouak. His lips stretch wide from eye to eye as he waves from the edge of the roots.

Cupping my hands, I shout back, “KIIGOOO!”

This boy’s name was, Kigo, Mago’s grandson. Against the drabness of the swamp, his orange skin topped with golden eyes made him pop into the foreground of vision. Next to Kigo was his father Gebo. His complexion was a darker shade of orange with stern red eyes of a seasoned warrior. A metal shortsword hung by his waist.

Kigo yells once more as we drift closer, “Hurry so we can get a seat near the front!”

With one swift kick, Mago leaps from the water and lands with a loud slap of webbed feet. The stem of my lily pad gets tugged along and I climb up with help from Gebo.

“Thanks.”

“Do not mention it. How goes the letter to your mate-to-be,” he replies.

“I have more than a single line now, though I feel like I’ve hit a bit of a block. It’s hard not to make it sound like a eulogy when everything comes flooding back…” I sigh remembering my slight outburst in the morning.

“Did your bad dreams at least stop?”

“I’d hope they have. It’s been a few days since the last one, and I can’t help but feel like a bother to you all when they happen…”

Mago—chuckling—jumps in and adds, “Abra no longer screams like he is being attacked. GOH-RO-RO. Mago remembers for one week, Mago had to keep watch just in case croc had broken the hut, because that was what it sounded like. GOH-RO-RO.”

At that, I purse my lips in a mix of both frustration and embarrassment. Up until recently, I’d been having nightmares and could barely sleep without breaking into a fit of screaming a few hours later. While consciously I’d felt logical about the entire situation, subconsciously the trauma ran deeper than I thought. For an entire week Mago kept watch over me at night to make sure I was okay and that I didn’t do anything to hurt myself. I was experiencing what he called “ghosts of the hunt”—memories that had such a strong impression on your soul that they made you relive them over and over again.

Gebo having seen his own fair share of hunting tragedies recommended I write down how I felt. If I faced the ghosts head on, they wouldn’t dare come back because the living were stronger than the dead—or so he said.

“Gebo looks forward to reading it. Gebo loves human love stories,” he says matter-of-factly.

I reply awkwardly, “Er…yeah sure I’ll try my best so it’ll meet your standards.”

I suddenly begin to wonder if his advice had some sort of hidden motive. Being raised by Mago the ex-adventurer had quite the impact on his son and grandson. Gebo loved books but only had about a dozen or so that Mago had brought back. His advice—though sincere—was probably a ploy to get more reading material. Not that I minded of course.

Kibo interjects, “Wait, if Papa can make requests, tell me more about the heavy rain you flew through Abra. Last time you told me about it sounded so cool! Are there really winds so strong they can pull up trees? You weren’t making that up right?”

Kibo on the other hand wanted to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and see the world. Whenever I’m alone with him he carries a naïve optimism that reminded me of Escyra when I had first met her.

As we walk and make small talk, the mangrove trunks broke into a clearing revealing the central bonfire. About five dozen or so Grouak are already gathered. Surrounding the fire are two twenty-foot anacondas roasting on a series of pikes. Next to it several female Grouak seem to be preparing insect platters set on plates of dried out lily pads.

“Mago, yoo-hoo over here!” a kind, yet very large looking frog woman croaks to get our group’s attention. It’s Uka, Gebo’s wife. Looking at Uka, her yellow hue almost camouflaged her against the similarly yellow flames—skin, eyes, and all. “Come hurry and get your plate. The village has been waiting on you and Abra. Most have their stomachs growling already.”

“We came at the time just before the sun sets. As long as there remains to be light we came on time,” Mago replies. Uka’s height—about 6 feet crouched and over 7 feet standing-- requires him to look up at her. Grouak biology seemed to lean towards larger females and smaller males, with males hovering the 4 to 5 foot range..

“Yes yes, but Uka is just saying many have been eyeing Gebo’s quarry since they gutted it. You can smell that it’s a fat one.” Uka gives Mago a plate of insects and looks down to me, “Uka and the other females even made sure to clean it thoroughly before cooking it.”

My stomach churns at a memory of discovering pieces of half-digested crocodile between slices of snake meat. I look up at her, “Yes, thank you very much Uka. Us humans don’t have the stomach for food that’s still red.”

“Mhm, and that’s the problem with your kind. Eating things they’re not supposed to and needing all these extra steps just to eat. If you can chew and swallow it, that’s cooked enough I say!”

“Y-yes Uka,” I smile politely not knowing how to respond without offending the seven-foot frog woman in front of me. I’d seen Kigo speak back to his mom once, and that was all I needed to fear all Grouak women. Unlike the human practice of spanking naughty children, Grouak parenting meant swallowing the child and regurgitating them only after apologizing.

“Here, make sure to eat lots of these along with the snake so you can grow nice and strong with the swamp.” Uka grabs a leaf and piles it high with brown insect legs. Through experience I recognize it as giant water cockroach. A steaming cut of anaconda topped it all. “I know how much you said you liked legs last time,” she says with a wink.

“Th-thank you very much,” I say struggling to fake gratitude. Uka genuinely cares about me as if I was part of her own family, but that doesn’t mean her cooking magically fit the human diet. “Just like crab legs…I looove crab legs…”

We find a place to sit among the inner perimeter of the fire. Roots jut out from the mud packed floor creating functional seating. Uka soon joins us with her own plate of insects and snake.

As soon as everyone is seated, all eyes are on the pyre. Time seems to slow as the sun’s descent creates growing shadows, highlighting the flames even more. As the last of the sun’s rays lick past the tips of the trees, drumming begins. Frog men—numbering about 2 dozen—dressed for hunting surround the fire carrying pails of water.

“CROAAAAAAK!!!” they let out an aggressive shout reminiscent of a war cry. All pails are thrown simultaneously, extinguishing the flames instantly. The hunter’s then go on all fours and stamp their hind legs. I spot Gebo and Kigo among them.

“GRO-KAH-KAH-KAH. GRO-KAH-KAH-KAH,” they chant. Their primal energy makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end while also sending a surge of adrenaline. “GRO-KAH-KAH-KAH. GRO-KAH-KAH-KAH.”

Suddenly Gebo leaps, spear in hand, straight onto the still glowing coals. An anaconda head is tossed high above him from the crowd. Gebo leaps and runs the head through. A thrall of frog croaks erupts from the collective. “CRO-RO-RO-CRO.”

He lands with a dramatic flourish before jumping back to his original position. Another Grouak of similar build leaps onto the coals holding a spear. In a similar fashion, another snake head is thrown several feet above him. He catches it midair and lands with ease. Likewise, the village erupts with noise.

This repeats for every hunter—17 in all—as they each catch the heads of today’s kills. Kigo stages the ritual’s finale by jumping upwards and catching a piece of the snake’s torso. The entire mangrove island falls silent before suddenly erupting into a unified, “GROOOOUUUAK.”

With that, everyone is permitted to eat.

Seeing as their race only needs one large meal a day, Grouaks treat their only mealtime with reverence. Females prepare the food and distribute it. Then, everyone is to wait for sundown. The moment darkness sets, the hunters extinguish the cooking pyre and perform a dance in thanksgiving—each representative of the day’s achievements. The biggest kills are always displayed first with other contributions following in succession. All the while starlight and fireflies give the scene an almost mystical ambience.

I start eating but begin to grow self-conscious. I’m the only one here that needs to chew their food and my host family has more or less finished engulfing their meal. It has only been about ten minutes. I barely finish my snake before Mago points at my cockroach legs.

“You going to eat that?”

Shrugging, I hand the legs over to him. Mago swallows it up in one fell swoop. While I can get used to the gaminess of snake and crocodile, the lack thereof on the giant insects has been my deterrent. While I often tell Uka I have an affection for bug legs because they remind me of seafood, it’s just an excuse so I can respect the effort she and the others put in. There’s not much meat to be had and most of it is thick juice. Disgusting.

A wet slap hits my cheek. My head gets jerked to the side to see a smiling Kigo retracting his tongue. “Papa has something to tell you.”

I look to Gebo who I catch downing a foot long cockroach torso. I wait for him to finish before speaking, “What is it Gebo?”

“We think we found a path for you. It’s about five days total swim north of here. Low on dangers like snakes and crocs and has lots of mangrove clusters for you to rest at night.”

My eyes widen with surprise. “Are you sure? What makes you sure the edge of the swamp is near?”

“Our highest jumper, Jambo, can attest to it. He saw grass in the distance. Also, the mud islands increase the farther we go, meaning the water is lower there. From what father tells me, that should be our first sign of the border.”

Mago nods to affirm, “He speaks the truth. The swamp is ever changing so the breeding grounds of beasts are never the same, but mud plus sightings of grass make it likely that’s your exit. But…” he trails off.

“But?” I ask curiously.

Gebo picks up where Mago left off, “…But border area is the prime breeding grounds for the giant suckers. We can smoke them easily enough, but we can’t do it alone. We need help from others.”

“Suckers. So giant mosquitoes…” I ponder, “So what you’re saying is if we try to go through with too little a group, we’re going to get swarmed by mosquitoes and likely end up as their lunch or worse?”

“Or worse,” Gebo nods. “We need at least six, excluding you. That’s the least we need to make enough smoke that the suckers get drunk while we walk you through…”

“…And then the issue becomes finding people willing to risk their lives for a human like me?” I cut him off and finish so he doesn’t have to say it.

“Leave that to me,” Mago interjects. “While yes some would be wary of risking themselves for your sake, if I’m one of your group, that should ease their worries. I am the village’s famed adventurer after all, GRO-RO-RO.” His deep laugh reverberates in my ears giving me ease.

In the corner of my eye, I catch the young Kibo begin to say something before his mother pulls him aside mouthing something that looked serious.

I’d grown accustomed to the village that I didn’t really think I would be leaving any time soon. The sudden news almost feels bittersweet. Then Escyra’s face comes back to mind and how terrified her face was---how terrified both our faces were—when we were separated. I scold myself for growing complacent and steel my resolve.

I turn to the Grouak who had saved my life and taken care of me up until now. I trust him and his family with my life at this point. With a thump to my chest I reply, “I leave it to you Mago.”