"Yes," grumbled Urfnu. "You are right, your family is not the sort to seek out aid." His whiskers twiched like whips striking the backs of slaves; it reminded me of home. "But, aid has come nonetheless. This blade was forged from a shard of Excalibur, that most famous of human weapons; I come bearing its shining glory to you seeking one thing in return." Onion, shivering from the cold in his red cloak raised an eyebrow and his ears flitted down in distrust. 

"Weild not this gift in anger, your oppressors were once oppressed themselves, and it is a pity the cycle could not have been broken before your people came under it."

"My family has spent its blood in service of those mongrels for nine generations! Do you know there is not one member of my kin outside of myself who has even seen the outside world? And I was hidden for twelve years in garbage to get that privelage." Onion shouted, the anger of his nine ancestral lines channeled in full. "Do you know that I had to describe to them the taste of bread? I was asked one day." Onion shook his head. "They asked me because it has become like myth to them, like some far off God sitting fat on his throne while people suffer." Onion started Urfnu in the face, but in the wake of the frog's girth, he still felt small. "And you would ask me to give mercy to those who've done this to me? To my people?"

"...Those most in need of mercy, are the ones you cannot imagine giving it to. Give anyway." Urfnu croaked as he pulled the shining blade out from behind him. "Mercy does not mean to not slay your enemy in the protection of your kin, but it is the seeking of unrighteous justice that will force some small creature to one day seek out an old man for the power to destroy you."

Onion walked away, blade in hand, wondering about what the old frog had said.