Froth

(Candy Fiend )

It feels like Froth has been in quarantine for years, although it's only been a couple of weeks. He is losing more and more control over his actions for extended periods. He has almost completely eaten himself away, all that remains is a thin layer of skin and his insides. The sugar craving dragon always looks half-crazed and ready to go ballistic. His fortified den stinks of infection and rot, although Froth seems to be too far gone to notice... The rotting smell comes from a maggot-infested pile of assorted seafood and meat, whilst the infection smell comes from the dragon the food was meant for, as he is practically a walking infection at this point. The faint, anxious chatter of Froth's clanmates can be heard through the den walls, they seem to be discussing the odd atmosphere in the camp, and where it came from. A huntress pointed out it seemed to be emanating from Froth's den. Upon further investigation, this seemed even more likely to be true. Strong waves of something dreadful, lurking thinly veiled under a sense of control, poured from the small den. Fearing something terrible is about to happen, the dragons elected a leader among them, someone to keep the order and make decisions, as they didn't have any sort of hierarchy. They elect David as their temporary leader and ask him to choose between fleeing and staying. He chooses Connor and Renzain to act as consultants. With them, he decides they will stay and fight the oncoming evil, and they accept it. The hatchlings are herded into a den, as nesting mothers rush off to the nesting ground to protect the eggs. Dull thuds emanate from Froth’s den, the centre of attention. All the dragons get more and more uneasy as the thumps get louder, and the squealing of claws on solid rock joins it.

From the inside, Froth is going insane. He can smell the flesh of the numerous dragons gathered near his den, and it's driving him up the walls. The dragon throws himself repeatedly at the solid wall of his den and in between blows, he tries to dig at the rock where the wall meets the ground. Unlike what is thought might happen when a sack of organs and muscles- held together by the thinnest layer of skin- throws itself, hard, into a rock, Froth doesn't immediately explode on impact, nor does the skin give way. He is deaf to the horrid screech of claws against rock, and the disgusting sound of his rotten body being thrown against a solid wall. he is focused on one thing, and one thing only, the tantalizing smell of sweet, sweet flesh from the other side. After multiple failed attempts, Froth steps back to think, before, somehow, he gets an idea. He squares his shoulders, lowers his head, and charges at the wall. Unable to withstand the force, a piece of his left horn breaks off, undaunted, and seeing a tiny crack running along the rock wall where his horn struck it, Froth kicks the fragment of horn away and charges the wall again and again, with more of his horns breaking away with every strike. Finally, he backs up as far as his meagre den will let him, and, with a running start, hits the cracking rock again with all his weight, cracking off the better part of what was left of his horns and breaks through the rock, leaving a hole large enough to force his head and neck through.