At the end of the second day, they crossed a field of bubbling hot springs, and the frog narrowly escaped scalding his rear quarters when a geyser erupted behind him. “You’re going to owe me a lot of june bugs when this is over,” he said bitterly.

At the end of the third day, the horizon began to glow. Nervously, they climbed to the top of a slippery hill. Ahead lay Fire Lake, its flaming waves lapping idly against its scorched shore.

Violet tightened her hand on Bindlepod’s arm. “I’m frightened,” she whispered.

“You should be,” croaked the frog, who was standing next to them.

“Whatever happens, we’re in this together,” said Bindlepod.

They started forward again.

In a few hours they were standing at the edge of Fire Lake. The blazing waves hissed and crackled as they rolled against the shore.

Bindlepod took Violet in his arms. He held her close, burying his nose in her neck.

“You know,” he murmured, “I like the way you smell.”

“And I like the way you smell,” she replied.

“Then what are you going to do this for?” cried the frog, who had been growing more alarmed as they approached the lake. “Are you out of your minds? What do you care what the others think? It’s none of their damn business! You love each other the way you are. Who are you going to change for?”

Violet blinked. Bindlepod stared at her. “Do you care if they think we stink?” he asked gently.

“I don’t care if you don’t care,” said the princess.

And they both laughed.

Princess Violet and Prince Bindlepod never did step into Fire Lake.

What they did do was build a home for themselves in a giant oak tree halfway between the gates of her father’s kingdom and the entrance to Nilbog. Part of the home was in the branches, and part beneath the roots. It smelled of sky and leaves, of stone and soil, and they loved it nearly as much as they loved each other.

Though they never went back to either kingdom, their home was always open to anyone who cared to visit, and who would take them as they were.

As the years passed, Violet and Bindlepod had seven children, who brought a great deal of jolliness to the home in the tree. They were an odd group: goggle-eyed, pale-skinned, and full of mischief. They adored the frog, who taught them to swim, and always called him uncle.

The frog adored the children, too, and often said to visitors, “They’re really sweet.” Then he would chuckle deep in his throat and add, “For a bunch of little stinkers.”

The Japanese Mirror

I WAS BLEEDING the first time I saw the Japanese mirror. I had been cleaning the side counter in Mr. Colella’s Curio Shoppe, and an unexpected piece of metal had sliced open my fingertip.