Crocus

Crocus, a baby to the world, no matter how old he gets.
Born to a pair of Mirrors, he tottered about in joyous, childish wonder, curiosity, and the eventual inevitable mischief.

It was perhaps due to this insatiable curiosity that his parents, whilst with him, decided to let him roam free. Just for a bit.
It was perhaps due to this insatiable curiosity that Crocus, seeing the strange tendrils of death belonging to the Plaguemother's domain, went a bit further.

And further.

And further.

Until the calming tones of his original home, the Tangled Wood, were nowhere to be seen. Normally, a hatchling might keel over at this realisation, whimpering and crying for their family, especially in such a hostile, alien environment as the Scarred Wasteland. But it was perhaps due to his forming - and already quite strong - sense of mischief, paired with the instinctive wonder of a hatchling, that Crocus decided it wasn't all too bad.

The young mirror, glinting in the harsh sun of the barren landscape unique to the Wandering Contagion, stood out quite a bit. He shone with the might and light of quite a resilient disco ball, and that was probably was caught a specific Fae's attention.

Safely in the hands of Snail, and her newly formed clan, Crocus found a place where he could be as radiant as his scales, and as untroubled by burdens as his new guardians could allow. What his parents thought when he suddenly disappeared, and when they even realised, is unknown.



By Xenomorph


When Crocus had grown to the full-size of a Mirror, the Clan didn't know what to do. Their little bundle of glittering joy had grown, and with what little information they had on the Mirror species; they knew Crocus would leave.

Snail, the one who had found him, was heartbroken. He may have caused quite the few crises for the little Fae, but she had loved him. Crocus seemed to be the only normal hatchling, and now, he was an adult, ready to leave his adoptive family.

Coreopsis, his caretaker and playmate, withdrew from the others when he found out. Aconite, his stone-hearted (to all but him) mate found him twisting himself over and over again into knots near the border between the Wandering Contagion and the Reedcleft Ascent. Not out of boredom, but of worry. Coreopsis knew how Crocus' curiosity and mischief got him into plenty of sticky situations, and felt that if the Mirror was left to fend for himself, something would go horribly wrong.

The other hatchlings were quite odd, quite a bit more mature than one would expect of their ages, so losing something of an eyesore that screeches 'til they were sure even the skeletons dotted around would shout out in annoyance, was a benefit.
Campanula was a bit fonder of Crocus due to their shared hatching-day, so she stayed with the adults to wish him farewell.

She, along with Snail (her eyes redder than usual), Borage, Straw (only followed as it was deemed by him as a clan 'event'), Maddex (sad to send such a bright prankster away), Aconite (dragged there by her mate), and Coreopsis (who only stopped his self-imposed punishment of continuous knotting to say his goodbyes), were there to say their farewells.

And so, after his scales on his shoulders were practically glowing from the amount of tears that fell on them, he left.

Crocus wandered the Contagion after leaving the Clan, constantly turning to quietly say goodbye to that outcrop he had grown so familiar with, until he could no longer see it. Even if he was now given complete freedom, to do whatever he wishes, to find a true place to call his home, he felt... empty.

Being seemingly carried by the gradually stronger and dustier winds, he neared the Shattered Plain with heavy steps. Crocus was used to the softer (but far more foul) winds of the Wandering Contagion. He was used to the murky green skies, not this piercing blue expanse, seemingly trying to burn his scales off with its ever-punishing sun.

However, after resting near a membrane-covered tree (Crocus hoped it would provide some shade, but it did not, and the heat seemed to have made it smell worse), he noticed something collapse in the distance.

Another dragon.

And now with energy suddenly rushing through his already taxed body, Crocus dashed to the dragon. Skidding to a halt, as he reached it, his first thought was that it seemed like one of the skeletons near the outcrop. Its bones stuck out, skin barely stretching far enough to cover its ribs. Dust and pebbles seemed embedded into the very unders of its scales. The poor thing was practically already a corpse, and could certainly be mistaken for one if not for the small rise and falls of its chest.

Crocus knew what to do, as he shuffled the near-dead dragon onto his back. He started turning back around, back to the membrane-covered tree, back to the Plaguebringer's lands.

It was a good excuse to go back home.