The river churned beneath the setting sun, its waters tasting the last golden rays of daylight. A scorpion clicked across sun-warmed stones at the bank, each step precise, measured, like a chess piece advancing across a board. On the opposite shore, the trees stood sentinel over promises of shelter, of hunting grounds, of empire.
The sound came first – a soft plop against mud – then the ripples spreading outward from where a frog had surfaced. The scorpion stilled.
"Hey there, friend. Beautiful frog, beautiful." The scorpion's claws gestured expansively. "You know what people tell me? They say nobody crosses this river like the frogs do. Nobody."
The frog's throat pulsed once, twice, as he hauled himself onto a half-submerged log. Algae clung to his back like a second skin. "The current's strong today." His webbed feet spread against the bark, testing its give. "Last storm took three of my cousins downstream."
"Sad. Very sad about your cousins. But you're different, aren't you? I can tell." The scorpion edged closer, his voice dropping to match the river's murmur. "Smart guy like you... we could do business here. Tremendous business."
A dragonfly skimmed the water between them. The frog's tongue flicked out, muscle memory, but he let the insect pass. "Business?"
"Simple deal. The best deal." The scorpion's tail curled forward, then back, like a conductor's baton. "You ferry me across. I don't sting you. Everybody wins."
The frog's eyes clouded with their second eyelid.
"Your kind hunts my kind," he said, more observation than accusation.
"Totally different situation. Completely different." The scorpion tapped a claw against stone. "Look at this river. You think I want to wind up down there with the catfish? Bad business. The worst."
Mud squished between the frog's toes as he considered. Above them, clouds dragged purple shadows across the water. "There are safer crossings upstream."
"Sure, sure. Many crossings. The best crossings. But time?" The scorpion's claws snapped once, sharp as a closing deal. "Time is money, friend. And I'm losing both standing here."
The frog’s generous spirit won out. He slipped from his log, water embracing him like an old friend. Then he turned, presenting his back to the scorpion. Not trust, precisely – but something adjacent to it. Something that tasted of hope, of a turned leaf after all these years of bitterness and bloodshed.
The weight settled between his shoulder blades, precise as a surgeon's knife. The frog pushed off, water rushing past his streamlined form. Neither spoke as the shore receded; only the rhythm of swimming, the pulse of current, the whisper of water against skin.
Halfway across, the scorpion shifted. "You know what your problem is?"
The frog kicked stronger against the deepening water. "I don't think—"
"Your problem," the scorpion continued, "is you're living in a loser's world. All this... cooperation. Weakness. Me? I live in the real world."
The sting came without warning. No dramatic pause, no villainous monologue – just the simple physics of venom meeting flesh. The frog's muscles seized. River water, cool as midnight, slipped past his gaping mouth.
"Why?" The word bubbled up through water already claiming them both.
The scorpion's last laugh held no trace of his dealmaker's charm. "Because you weren't looking at me." Water filled the spaces between his words. "You were looking at who you wanted me to be."
The river took them then, dark water washing away the difference between predator and prey, between trust and folly, between what is and what should be.