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.

     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.