Among her virtues, Waker couldn't claim boldness as one of them. Unlike her siblings who'd all dared venturing out of Centaurus cycles ago, only recently had she hazarded following suit and bothered sliding a tentacle beyond its boundaries. Even harder had it been to brave the scorching sands past her home cave on the journey to the more populated system it connected to, a vast expanse with little shade and glaring light that sought to expose every weakness lurking beneath her pebbled hide. She'd have turned back if not for the opportunity lost in doing so; what great benefit, after all, could be reaped from wandering halfway into wasteland and returning to comforting familiarity? Her knowledge would remain narrow and confined to the Shapers' insights. Therefore her growth as a builder would be stunted, unable to weave fresh details into an ever-shifting design.

It'd be a blatant falsehood to say she didn't miss her guardians though. Each lurch over ground drew the invisible familial thread tying her to them tauter and tugged at the individual loops wound around her hearts. The passage of time since hatching might've allowed her mind to undergo a certain amount of maturation, yet a relatively sheltered life kept it rather innocent despite an impressive lexicon of swears and a decent grasp of various card games' rules. Canis' low ceiling was appreciated upon entry by eyes gleaming green and full of unshed excess moisture. Waker's black nose twitched, its sniffle audibly wet, and she crept farther inside along a more preferable route than before: presented the chance to observe the world from a higher position, the unusual hybrid clambered up, skillful tentacles maneuvering her misshapen form through dangling stalactites.

This vantage point proved quite useful, the sight of curious constructs in the distance far more apparent than if she'd stayed earthbound. The piled bones called to her, the deliberate care put into those stacks quite obvious compared to the broken skeletons more carelessly strewn about the room. Once latched to the portion of the ceiling directly above one of these dens, Waker tested her strength, twisting in place until half her body swung free to better peer down at its pale roof. Then, none too gentle, she slapped a tentacle against the rough surface. Her gaze narrowed in contemplation when the building shuddered at the hit but refused to buckle under the assault.

Impressive. What allowed it to hold up so well?