Through France-human-land, I think.

The local human population refused to speak with me, except a young lad who explained at least Europe’s map to me. Odd that he knew this guy who owns the map. Strangely enough he stopped being helpful when I asked him about the frogs. Maybe amphibians are fearsome creatures in this part of the world.
After walking on my own for a while I was being picked up by a human in a huge driving tin which he had all to himself (and hundreds of dead animals in the back). He said he was from a place called Bulgaria, bringing meat to France, and then taking other meat from France to Bulgaria. We both agreed that questioning the logic behind that was a sure route to insanity. Been there.
His name was Stojan and he had pictures painted on his skin: a lizard, a naked she-human and the heart of his mother. Holy Trolls of Trellagore! I envisioned myself coming home with that last one. Hehe. I would be the laughing stock of the tribe. And then my family would get very creative to find an exceptionally painful and humiliating way to slaughter me. And rightly so. I decided to keep my opinion to myself for once as Stojan was so friendly and useful. And the france-meat was rather delicious, too. But: not one frog to talk to. No france-humans either. We’re on our way to kraut-land now.

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