Cain flew up to the west wall of Draco, to the stone structure that had been built in the top most alcoves to make its perching-nest where it could rest and watch over the Forge from on high. There wasn't much to the space even before it had left for Ursa: a small domed piece of a chrysalis where it could keep liquid: milk, blood, water-- for scrying or personal enjoyment and a bit of bedding made of old scraps of fur, feathers, ruined bits of cloth. It hadn't been anything particular special. It was just where it slept, at the end of the day.

So it expected that even if a hound had been stupid enough to poke its nose into the den that it wouldn't have disturbed much. Maybe with time, its nest would have disintegrated further, or something like that. It had not expected what it had found.

Cain's paws landed on the lip of the wall's cliff, shoving its head into the entryway, and blinked its eyes into focus among the shadow.

Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of writhing bugs began to scatter at the sudden movement. They were wallcrawlers-- fat, some green and others more oily in their long, undulating bodies, scrambled on their hundred little limbs over each other and over the walls, scurrying for cracks and to hide from the sudden predator in their midst.

It stared for a moment in stunned silence. Bugs? Bugs, in ITS home.

Then, with irritation, it pulled on its magic, aiming not for anything in particular. It simply wanted to destroy the insects that had made root in its little hole in the wall. A hiss peeled from the garnet on its throat, and electricity shot in a sudden, loud cracking boom as the alcove lit with discriminant lightning.