Waldemar and the Poisonous Frog

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The sun was already sinking toward the horizon as Waldemar the raccoon wandered along a narrow path through the deep forest. His backpack weighed heavily on his shoulders, but that hardly bothered him, as he was used to carrying his supplies, a few books, and small finds with him at all times. The evening air was warm and smelled of damp moss and the resins of the tall trees. With every step, small twigs crackled under his boots. Waldemar was a curious fellow. Where others took the straight path, he was repeatedly drawn off to where light and shadow told their own stories. So that evening, he came to a small clearing he had never seen before. A narrow stream flowed there, clear and calm, reflecting the glow of the setting sun. But it wasn't the water that made him pause, but a creature sitting on a flat stone at the stream's edge. A frog, bright red, almost as if cast from fire, with white spots that sparkled like pearls in the evening light. Its large black eyes shone deeply, reflecting Waldemar's figure. Waldemar stopped and took a sharp breath. He knew enough about the animals of the forest to realize that such bright colors meant a warning. Poison. But the raccoon felt no fear. Instead, a strange peace spread within him, as if this frog carried not death, but mystery. "You are both beautiful and dangerous," he murmured softly, slowly sitting down on a mossy stone nearby. At that moment, he heard a voice, clear and quiet, not from outside, but within himself. "Poison is only a name, wanderer. Healing dwells within me as well. Are you seeking one or the other?" Waldemar flinched almost imperceptibly. His ears pricked, and he placed his paws on his knees. "I seek neither poison nor healing," he answered after a brief silence. "I'm just finding my way through this forest, perhaps with a little wisdom for the journey." The frog blinked slowly. A soft croak, almost like a laugh, vibrated in the air. Then it jumped from the stone into the stream. But the water didn't splash; it vibrated like a taut string. Circles expanded and transformed into images: Waldemar saw a clock whose hands were running backward, a tower of roots spiraling toward the sky, and finally, his own face—marked by years he hadn't yet experienced. "What does that mean?" he asked breathlessly. "That every step can be poison or healing," the voice sounded. "You carry both in your heart. Choose wisely, raccoon." Waldemar lowered his gaze. The words burned into his mind like runes that could only be deciphered later. He knew he wouldn't grasp the meaning immediately, but he would take it with him, as one plants a seed in fertile soil. When he looked up, there was a small, shining white dot on the stone the frog had left behind.