Teshel

Teshel Bridge spans a gap between two rocks, one of the only crossings over the stream for meters around. Falner’s ancestors had made a pact with the toad charmers clan decades ago, their beasts’ strength crucial in placing the branch now bridging the rivulet.

The toads had also helped bury the ends of the newly created bridge in earth, stabilizing and bonding it to the rocks with a cementing secretion no one was overly curious about.

It had been a monumental endeavor, now source of tales and jealousy, the latter mostly from nearby villages, but an opportunity for the new inhabitants of Teshel who saw it as an investment.

Unfortunately for Falner the toad clan’s help had come with conditions. In exchange for the service, the inhabitants had indentured some of their children to the clan for the maintenance of the birthing pools. Keeping these free of parasites and encroaching algae, separating the gooey masses and making sure they had adequate air and clean water, among many other tasks involving prolonged time spent in what only few of the workers actually called “water”.

So here he was now.

After a last longing look into his warm, and oh-so-dry home, Falner put on his chest waders, the clingy material already itching his chest where last week’s rash still showed, grabbed his cleaning prod and set off for the murky ponds and their glutinous eggs.