Lunar

He flicked his tail, watched the moonlight coast over his scales. Archimedes and Kermit clung to his spine, croaking reproachfully; they hated it when he did that. Sorry, he muttered, and he let his tail lie in the dust like a dead thing.
Lunar was in a contemplative mood. The world was beginning to look like a string of adjectives, a well-placed noun, and when he got into such a poetic mood, he knew it was time to sleep. The moon kept sentry over the night, sheltering its stars like he was sheltering his frogs now - he adjusted the scarf around them both, which they pointedly ignored. They were temperamental like that.