There was something about a moonlit stroll that set one's mind at ease, Mask thought to himself. Under the pale moon's face, the little shore shimmered like a sea of diamonds against the sapphire waters beyond, giving a tranquil atmosphere that allowed a weary soul such as his to settle and be at peace.

  Three years.

  It had been three years since the war ended.

  Three years since his discharge.

  Three years since his departure.

  Peace time was a strange time, especially for one that had entered conflict so young. From the moment he could carry a gun, the now senior raccoon had devoted himself entirely to the military, making his way up the ranks and fighting for all he was worth. He had lost his tail and the use of his left eye, but he knew fulfillment all the way to the end as a true man and a noble solider.

  But was he truly fulfilled?

  As he stood there, his toes soaking in the foam as a salty breeze ruffled his fur, he thought of his life and all the things he had missed. He had never married, nor had he pursued any potential careers beyond that of the military. Even then, he had never truly wished to hold a position of authority, choosing to lead by example if ever at all. In truth, he was rather aimless in the twilight of his journey, and perhaps that was why he had come to this island. Frogsmouth Bay was far off the beaten path, sitting comfortably in the Green Lily Sea. It wasn't a trading town, nor was it renowned for tourism or anything that would catch the eye. There was no robust history or any great secret that would invite the adventurous. It was barely inhabited, only ever seeming to draw waifs, strays, and those that generally wanted to get away from it all. Some were former criminal looking for a fresh start, others wanting to have their families on their own terms, and some that just couldn't stand people and preferred their solitude. Then, there were the likes of Mask, the aimless and the lost that no longer had a purpose. The folks around were cordial if not friendly to a fault, and they had all readily accepted him and helped him eek out what little he now had from building his house to offering him a job in the local orchard. It was good work, and good company, but he still felt unfulfilled, as though there were a crucial piece still missing. He looked out to the moon, silently asking it for advice as he contemplated his options, when a sound tickled his ear. He cupped a hand to it, listing intently.

  Had he imagined it?

  No! There it was again, faint yet nearby.

  Mask started making his way down the shoreline, cupping both ears as he honed in on the sound. After passing a few palms, he found a tiny cubby of tidal pools where the sea water became trapped. While normally a marvelous spot to hunt down oysters or small crustaceans, it appeared that another, quite unexpected tiny creature found itself stuck: a tadpole. It was tiny, likely having hatched perhaps earlier in her day, and it had been stuffed in a larger brandy bottle. The fact that Mask could hear it crying at all was only a testament to his military training enhancing his situational awareness. He hobbled over, and, very gingerly, he fished the bottle out of the tidal pools. It was a rather expensive bottle from the looks of it, made from crystal rather than glass, and tied around the neck was a gold doubloon bound by a leather strap. Mask inspected it, figuring it must have fell from a merchant ship of some sort, and he hoped the currency would give him an idea what nation it hailed from. But, to his shock, he didn't recognize the emblem on the coin: frog's head with a crown on one side, and a webbed frog foot on the other. To Mask's knowledge, there were no frog kingdoms or even a dominant colony now that he thought of it, and the Proteus nation had significantly shrunk since the war. He was quickly pulled from his rambling thoughts by a fresh broadside of tears from the tadpole. Mask deftly took the cork in his free hand and unplugged the neck, and then, very carefully, he poured the tadpole out of the bottle and into his palm.

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  He was a tiny thing, or at least Mask figured it was male, much smaller than he probably should have been. But he was at least marginally healthy given the bright green hue of his skin, though he was no doubt starved. Mask suddenly found himself in a panic. He was a soldier, after all, and child rearing, especially that of a different species, was definitely not taught in basic training. He stammered a bit and looked around desperately for some sort of help, but he was completely alone. It didn't help that the wailing was giving him a headache, so he couldn't even think straight. As desperation settled in, Mask's brain fell back to his own youth and how his own mother would calm him: she would sing. After a minute, he remembered one of his favorites, and he began to belt it out.

  "Safe and sound at home again, let the waters roar, Jack.

  Safe and sound at home again, let the waters roar, Jack.

  Long we've tossed on the rolling main, now we're safe ashore, Jack.

  Don't forget yer old shipmate, faldee raldee raldee raldee rye-eye-doe!"

  The babe still wailed, but now his eyes were open, the bright yellow spheres looking up into the fuzzy faced crooner curiously.

  "Since we sailed from Plymouth Sound, four years gone, or nigh, Jack.

  Was there ever chummies, now, such as you and I, Jack?

  Long we've tossed on the rolling main, now we're safe ashore, Jack.

  Don't forget yer old shipmate, faldee raldee raldee raldee rye-eye-doe!

  We have worked the self-same gun, quarterdeck division.

  Sponger I and loader you, through the whole commission.

  Long we've tossed on the rolling main, now we're safe ashore, Jack.

  Don't forget yer old shipmate, faldee raldee raldee raldee rye-eye-doe!"

  Mask was really starting to get into the beat of the song now, letting his mind drift back to a time long lost as he and his siblings would dance and sing around their mother to the old tune. A time of laughter, mirth, and a warm hearth: a bygone age that had been buried under a lifetime of combat and near death experiences. With his soul full and his heart free, he looked down to the grinning tadpole in his palm, the tiny bit trying to croak in time with his tune.

  Kero. K-kero.

  Mask grinned as he held him up.

  "Aye, them's some mighty fine pipes you got there, youngun." he chuckled. "Mighty fine indeed. Not even a day old, and already you're set for the opera. I'd always heard frogs were good singers, not that I've known too many."

  With the child content, if only for the moment, Mask looked about once again. There was no sign of a ship of any sort, and the water was fairly still while the tide was out. How long as this little thing been stuck in the tidal pool, he wondered, and what had happened to put him there? The answer didn't come to him, nor would he accomplish anything just standing there puzzling. He looked back down to the tiny thing in his palm, and he thought very long and hard. In the end, he smiled and put his back to the sea as he and his new little friend started their way back home.