Short And Brutal

The rana makes its way down the carriage, under the seats.

It expects to find a slug any minute.

But instead....

What are these sticking out from under two papers?

Legs of frogs, yes, but they are not legs of ranas.

The rana edges past the papers, silently, so as not to disturb the sleeping frog tourists. 

For frog tourists they must be.

It continues down the passage.

The train starts moving, towards Paris.

Any slugs that were waiting for this to happen now feel free to move about the train floor, looking for the things that slugs look for.

The slugs are not here in large numbers

There are two slugs, sliding slowly, having detached themselves from the shoes of keen gardeners.

The rana spies one, creeps up slowly, and pounces.

Gulp.

That leaves the other one.

The rana sees it, moving towards a piece of dropped lettuce.

From someone's sandwich.

But the second slug is a big one, and the rana is full.

Perhaps the frog tourists would like it.

The rana makes its way back to the sleeping frog tourists.

Taps their exposed parts.

Quiet-tartus pokes his head out from under his paper.

Excuse me, says the rana.

Are you an inspector? asks Quiet-tartus.

Ha ha of course not, says the rana. I'm a rana temporania. And you look like a tourist. Welcome to France.

I've been here since July, says Quiet-tartus, And I'm heading home now, but thanks.

I spotted a slug down that way, says the rana, Would you and your friend like to share it?

Would we! says Quiet-tartus. Hold my place, I'll find it.

He hops away in the direction that the rana has indicated.

But the life of a slug can be short and brutal.

Someone has seen it.

By the time Quiet-tartus reaches the slug it is in no fit state to be eaten.

It's a slimy grey streak on the floor of the train.