In the soft hush of dusk, a plump frog with a glistening back sat snug on a log. “Glub, glub,” he sang, his song a blend of croaks and hums. As stars blinked on, they caught Chip, the crisp bug, in the gloaming. Chip had a wish. He dreamt of flight, his small wings thin yet bright. The night was still, the air just right. With a leap, Chip met the sky, flapping with all his might. Frog watched, his heart light. Chip buzzed up and up, until he was a speck in the night, his brave flight a silent cheer in the hush of twilight.