He returned to his new canvas some time later with two rats in his maw, blood still dripping down from the carcasses. Carefully the african wild dog eyed up his canvas once more before he carefully set the corpses down and tore one open, dipping his paws into it. He didn't want to think as hard as he had with the failed map, trying too hard would make him mess it all up.

And so the dog lifted himself onto his hindlegs again, paws beginning to knead quietly against the rock. His paws made small designs, not just a normal pawprint as he twisted and swept his pawpads against the rock. It didn't have to be a perfect representation of Pisces because it was his interpretation of the place.

He could relax, just working like this for a while. He forgot about the horrible things that was in the world - like the dragon and the state Polaris was in. Sometimes he wondered what happened to the owl or the horse, but not now. He was busy right now; just painting for as long as he wanted to. He leaned back a little and peered at what he had done so far - it looked like nothing but little patterns on the wall, close together.

Bones nodded, more to himself, as he swept the patterns out. He decided that this particular part would be the waterfall, and he was fairly sure he had an idea on how to do that. Briefly his mind casted back to Eridanus and he remembered that while he was lying bleeding on the floor he was surprised by the black colour that charred skin left.

He was already painting in blood. Burning things for black wouldn't be that grotesque, seeing as he used to hunt specifically for painting. He wished he could do that again, but as he had proven time and time again, hunting was a pathetic failure for him; but he had gotten over that now.

The painted dog's bloodied paws drew down the smooth wall. He stared, and then he nodded, hobbling back to lean down and peer over a drained rat. With paws burning, the african wild dog rather simply stood on the rat's thick rump, face coiling and writhing in pain briefly; the rat beginning to burn until it's particular piece of skin was nothing more than blackened charcoal.

He nodded, slightly, sitting down to rest his feet after the fire on his feet died away.

Once Bones felt ready to paint once more, he carefully nudged at the charred flesh of the rat before he rather simply just broke the entire leg off, holding it by the fleshy foot while it's crisp black thigh was hanging out. He turned to his wall canvas once more, lifting himself up onto the wall.

Carefully he began to fill in the area around the water fall - adding in the stone floor and the wave right next to it; pressing a little harder where the inside of the cave would be. He leaned his head back, staring closely at his work with a tilted head and a furrowed brow.

The african wild dog placed the thigh back down and began smearing the black marks across the wall, though to not much success; it was quickly beginning to look messy and faded with many paw marks surrounding what he had done so far.

Despite the mess, Bones was content. He leaned back and looked at his half-finished work for a moment or two with his ears flickering. He moved to idly split open the second rat, briefly nibbling at the flesh around it's stomach before he plunged his paws into it.

The wild dog realised, as he was smearing his blood-caked paws across the wall, he would have liked to draw some trees; but he couldn't recall seeing any. With a huff, he drew in the red lake of Pisces and withdrew himself once more.

Perhaps he'd draw Cetus once he was done.

But for now, his head was beginning to feel heavy and as he looked down he realised he was a mess - his entire legs, somehow, up to the shoulder, was covered in blood. Bits of his chest had also been splattered and his paws were burning and stinging. He glanced up at the painting once more before he decided that he would continue later, perhaps after a nap.

He was content with this idea - but he might even draw Cetus after a nap. He wasn't sure, yet, but that was okay. The african wild dog yawned as he lifted himself up to all fours, leaning over to also pick up the femur bone in his mouth as he began to limp away closer towards Giggle's dens. When he reached the den he paused and looked around before he placed the femur bone back down and faced a shallow puddle.

As the african wild dog placed the bone down he turned to face the shallow pool of water. He didn't look so great himself - his reflection showed back a bug-eyed and tired looking pup; gangly and thin and covered in blood and burn marks. For a moment, he didn't recognize his own image.

And then he leapt in the puddle so he wouldn't have to look at it any longer, rolling around and wetting his fur and face, rubbing his legs against his face and his chest and when he got out he shook his fur so that the water flew everywhere and the stank of wet dog began to fill the air.

When the wild dog turned back to the puddle he found himself not looking too different - cleaner, yes. Wetter, yes - but his eyes only looked bigger and more tired. He looked like how he felt, quite accurately; but he wanted to look and feel better.

Maybe he'd feel better after a nap? The dog shook his head lightly as he turned to pick his femur bone back up into his mouth and head into the den - which stank a lot more than he did, this much he was sure of.

Inside the den, nothing was out of place. The hyena, Giggle, often liked to keep mushrooms strewn around the den and the wild dog had it longed engraved in his mind where they were and where it was safe to walk and sleep. Giggle herself however, was not in her den.

The african wild dog had a distinct image in his mind of the hyena sitting by her bone pile, staring into the bones as she asked them of things - she had become very reliant on them, he thought. She asked them a lot of things, perhaps out of anxiety or paranoia - or both. Or perhaps she was talking to a visitor and doing the thing she did where she haggled them into getting read by the bones.

Bones slowly shook his head as his feet moved like clockwork through the den. Not once did his paws even come close to brushing the mushrooms along the floor; he had practised on sleepless nights, tip-toeing in and out of the den without waking his mother up or squishing the mushrooms.

There was even a time when he could run in and out the den without touching a thing.

He couldn't do that anymore, of course, but eventually he found his sleeping spot in the den and practically collapsed on the ground with the femur bone on his forelegs. With a sigh, he rested his head down and closed his eyes with a soft grumble.

[end thread]