From the swamp he began, and to the swamp he was destined to return.
He knew it to be true, even if no one else was willing to see the obvious.
Such a fool he’d been as a young frog, to cross paths with the pretty girl. She bore some of the blame, but the mirror smooth waters of the swamp caught her eye and the sweat summer weather slowed her pace, bringing her within reach of his curse. He blame lies only in that she allowed the tendrils of thought through her mind sent by the curse, tendrils that had her wondering if the old tales were true. Could a girl really find a prince in a frog?
As is usual in such cases, the old tales are partly true.
She found him that afternoon in the swamp. Kissed him into a new shape, found him to her liking, then realized her position and ran off and left him.
He tried to disguise himself as a frog, but the other frogs were not having anything to do with him shaped like a man.
He tried to disguise himself as a man, but the other men clearly had trouble with his poor coordination, lack of clothing, and difficulty communicating.
So he returned to a life of solitude in the swamp.
Expecting one day to return to its waters, and hoping that the next turn of the wheel would have him be a fish.