Crybaby curls around and around the tightly packed trees of the forest. He is beautiful, pale perlino with brilliant flowers in his mane and tail. The leaves around him are dark reflections in his pink eyes - they glimmer with interest, snarky grin on his face.

Hatchetface is in Pangea while his twin wanders, and the perlino cannot help but feel a bit naked without his counterpart. A bit of nervousness pervades his mind, sending heart palpitations to throb painfully in his chest. The grin on his face wavers into a straight line, and he flattens - or rather, deflates - into what appears to be the most hollow creature on earth. That is what his mother taught him, or what a child perceives as a lesson: never show your true nature. Sure, his father may see a flash or two, but the twins lead intensely private lives. Crybaby is not even sure if he loves Litotes - or Jackel.

He is not sure of anything. His single year alive has been particularly tumultuous.

So, one could say that he is “finding himself” as he weaves, curious about about having a life outside of his family while simultaneously terrified of where he might go without his brother. The forest appears safe, at least, and he finds solace in the way the branches weave together like handmade wicker baskets. Beneath the canopy and low-hanging leaves, most would not be able to spot him (that is what he tells himself, though his shiny perlino frame is much more noticeable than he will admit).

It is those exact interlaced limbs that hinder him when he nearly runs head first into an equally as pale yearling. All Cry can muster is a grunt before reeling back and into the trunk of a tree. He can hear his companion python snickering in his head, though she is some distance away.

“Nageera,” he snaps without thinking about how strange this colt must find him to be spouting gibberish. Crybaby then snaps his attention back up to Beelzebub, hot pink eyes suspicious. “What are you doing?”