In Dire Straits - Frontier Psychiatrist [Crocus]

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     It's getting dark.
     Life isn't easy, being Vorpal-- the way he is, anyway. Hating others, but hating the loneliness even more. Sensitive to the sun, while scared of the dark. Quite a conundrum he isn't old enough to figure out. Maybe, he never will be.
     Twigs crack beneath his pawpads, hurried steps, unsure where he's headed. He's never been this far before, and he can't see his father's tower through the trees. All the overhanging branches look like vicious fingers, sharp and stinging. Something barbed is lodged in the hollow of his hind-leg, between bones with some much middle space. He still has quite a bit of growing to do.
     Something shrieks, eager for oncoming night, and Vorpal trips in haste to whirl on himself. Hearing no reply, the boy turns-- slowly, suspecting he shouldn't-- to what may be something... living, not far from himself. A little more breath morphs his panting into sound. "H-... h-hello?"
     Help.

Crocus was not afraid of the dark. His father had taught him there were far more things to be afraid of, so Cro knew not to waste his time being afraid of something that was completely inevitable.

Instead, the young green boy had learned to embrace darkness. His coat blended in better with the foliage when the sun wasn’t pronouncing the brightness of his colors. The darkness allowed him to slink through the brush undetected, if he was quiet enough. It was his new form of entertainment: slithering through bushes and undergrowth to sneak up on people, then jumping out at the last second to give them a good startle.

He was bored. Could you blame him?

Crouched low, treading lightly on oversized paws, the progeny pressed forward against branches and twigs. Violet eyes had caught sight of a young boy, one of the Chariot’s kids he assumed. He’d been slowly meeting each of them, but he’d yet to learn this one’s name.

His vision was obscured by the plant growth in which he lurked, so he simply followed the shape of the boy, inching closer and closer. His movements seemed fearful, on edge. This would be a good one to spook.

A grin spread across Cro’s maw.

Getting ever closer, the bulky male took a few more steps as the much smaller boy called out into the night, his voice quivering. As the tawny boy’s eyes move to where Crocus lurked, the boy leaps from the shrubs at him.

Flying toward him, he growls, “RRRAAAAaaaahh!!!”

Regardless of if he lands on the boy and knocks him over or if he simply lands near him, Cro would just laugh, clearly very amused at this little stunt.

A E S T H E T I C

So skinny, his mother tells him, urging him to eat, and he does to please her, only retching back up when she isn't watching. His worst fears are realized as nightshade eyes and gleaming teeth launch at him, spry young Vorpal too frozen in fear to avoid it. He is easily overtaken by the larger boy, destined to be bigger and already acting like it. The mutt lands on his back, long body stretched out under the royal and head crooked to the side, mouth hung open and ringed eyes wide and flickering.
"Wh--... Who are you?" he breathes, sounding strained and oddly distant, as if he isn't speaking to Crocus at all. His adam's apple shivers in a harsh swallow, a foreleg stretching out above him, twisting his body as he carves lines in the loose dirt, attempting to extricate himself. He stops, only partially extricated, gaze shifting from its corner lock on Crocus to focus on... nothing at all.