In the deep flourishing forest, nearly midnight along with the occasional squack of a crow or two, a large living stone crocodile of a creature sitting on the edge of the forest staring at a empty canal, this 'creature' had nearly black skin but eyes that glowed red like a everlasting rage.
As much as rough and bullish he was he did have a singular internal weak spot hidden from anyones knowledge, it being a memory from centuries ago. As a young whelp he was taught to kill and take, like any other gum-gum, but they had something before he didnt quite remember, but as the others were stripped away from thier families, he was always right at home with his father and what he could hardly remember if he even had one, a mother. He can only picture small details about her. Her ruby read eyes, and curved horns like his, without the spikes and all of course. But overall as much as he pondered what happend to her, he never had the time to ask his father over the centuries. He and his father had always been busy with keeping the flesh-bags out of thier forests. And as for him, killing the trollhunters that were chosed from that dreaded amulet, but maybe it was about time he did. He let out a huff of air before he shook his mane and ran off to the museum, as where the bridge lies.
