If you ever want to summon a frog, stand at the edge of any road and whistle twice. A guardian will come from the underbrush and ask you for your name. Once they know your name they will take you back into their kingdom and you can do as you please (within reason)

Ah, behold! A quaint wooden pumpkin, no larger than a squirrel’s daydream. It hangs by a sneaky length of twine — rustic, possibly stolen from a scarecrow’s belt, and perfect for hanging upon a crooked nail or the branch of a particularly contemplative tree. It sways ever so slightly in the breeze, murmuring secrets of forgotten festivals and the laughter of scarecrows long since retired. A curious charm, indeed — like something a lost soul might carry in their pocket, just in case the forest starts to hum. Useful? Questionable. Whimsical? Deeply.

DO NOT PUT THESE OUTSIDE IT WILL GET GROSS