Jeff ate a dragonfly. It had no taste and a part of him was still revolted as the sound of the crunch it made going down, but at least he wouldn't be hungry for a while.
The large frog swam though the pond, mindful of predators. He had watch his fellow frogs eaten by birds often and occationally large fish. He wouldn't mind being either, certainly the bird was a good prospect of getting home. But up to now he wasn't sure what to make of this transition.
What had allowed him to end up a frog, rather than frog poop?
He figured that there had to be some part of himself that had to be ingested for this to work, likely the brain in his mind. That made it tough to get eaten by a human, his ultimate goal. If he could take over a person, then he could figure some way back home. Or at least out of the swamp. But he wasn't afraid to admit to himself that he was scared to death of the prospect. Perhaps it only worked once. What happened if he was torn apart by a predator and his head wasn't eaten? What if he died and was eaten later?
For now, the frog hopped around the pond, eating insects and hiding. Being a frog wasn't all that much fun, but at least he was alive.