How odd. But Mr. Wonka is mulling over a great many other extraordinary things that have happened that day, and it does not obtrude on his train of thought. He selects one of the small rosy fruits from his upturned hat and takes a contemplative bite.

"Would you care for a bite of apple?" He proffers a second apple from the hat. "It certainly seems edible, though of course it can take time to learn which plants are dangerous, and sometimes they do surprise you."

"I'll risk it. They look tasty." Nomf.

The plant wiggles again, then pops out of the ground to reveal that it has a little face with beady read eyes. It yells "Oddoddodd!" then bounds over towards Kevin and bites his ankle.

"Ow ow ow!" Kevin attempts to kick the thing off but it's grabbed on pretty hard and seems to be . . . sucking on him?

NO that's MY human! Not yours!

The plant critter gets pinched off and flung.

Oh it is ON.

How extraordinary—a plant with a taste for pugilism! He hasn't seen anything quite like that since Calcutta.

Brief gleeful glance at the boy Kevin. Any injury a stiff butter gin wouldn't solve, by the way?

Just bruised and slightly dizzy; he's sitting down rubbing his ankle and watching the pugilism.

The plant puffs out a cloud of spores that get in the Paras's face and impede its movement somehow; Paras stumbles.

"Go Paras! Kick that plant's butt!"

Paras seems to take this encouragement to heart and wrestles the plant-creature more aggressively.

"Hey, now! Queensberry rules! No low blows!"

But how curious it is to see these fantastical creatures having at it! In the wild, many species often politely ignore one another unless they are conspecifics or engaged in predator-prey negotiations. Even then, out-and-out brawling is a costly method of last resort.

Why do they fight so readily? Is the insect—Paras— being protective of its new ward? And does this beady-eyed ambusher truly have the vegetable nature, or is it merely a skilled mimic like a stick insect or an oat-and-raisin biscuit?

No rules only clawing!

And biting!

And whacking!

Aaaaaaand running away. It darts off into the underbrush.

Kevin does his best wrestling announcer voice. "The winnah, and still champeen!"

Aw yeah who's the best I'm the best

Paras waves its claws triumphantly.

He claps vigorously. "Such panache! Such ripostes! Oh, well fought, indeed!"

And—he can't help but notice—a fairly rapid recovery from the spores' intoxicating effect! Sharply peaked, like horseradish. Hmmm. Well, in his experience, most biological neurotoxins are too heat-sensitive for sweets anyways, even if they'd survive the digestive tract. But if he sprinkled the spores on some sort of pastry, an ataxia beignet, perhaps—he will file the idea away for later.

Instead, Mr. Wonka will crouch down and experimentally try petting Paras's chitinous head. How's that?

Paras scoots back a step, claws raised.

"Aww, don't worry. Wonka's nice."

Suspicious squint but the claws do come down.

Ah, well, what's a few fingers risked among friends?

Pat .... pat?

Gentle friendly fingerpinch.

... remarkable.