Crimsonite Fiddly

It spends the falling tide sifting mud for scraps, the little claw feeding while the big one stays cocked for display or defense. That oversized claw is mostly bluff, but the bluff is committed; two Fiddly disputing a burrow will fence and shove for an hour, claws clacking like castanets, and genuine damage is rare. It digs a neat vertical burrow and plugs the entrance at high tide, riding out the flood in a pocket of trapped air, and emerges when the water drops to wave defiantly at a world that has, once again, failed to notice it.