When I was around ten, I went camping with my cousin.
On the way back from the lake you could follow the road to get back to the campsite but there was another option.
We had discovered a hidden camp trail that ran parallel to the road, for the most part, and so we usually took that way to get back to the campsite.
It was a thin dirt trail that threaded through a thick dark forest.
One day, deep into the path, we saw something. It was hard to believe. We debated its existence.
Someone had burnt the front half of a frog onto the trunk of a tree. The blackened husk seemed like a warning. Everything around us got quieter. We picked up our pace.
After that, we took the road to get to and from the lake.