P A L L A S
the man who sleeps with a knife
is a fool every night but one

Home again. As much as home could be, that is. Familiar spires curled in his peripheral above him, vertigo threatening to take him over before he climbed up to prance from branch to branch. This was more like it.

He could already see his old abode in almost no time at all. Murky waters swirled below it as usual, with its gnarled roots as gnarly as ever, his tree stump dead as always. Ah- Pallas inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the pine mingling with the sickly sweet rotten scent of Mother's piece in his mouth.

He just needed to find a home for her. He'd already remembered a dry spot of land nearby- would it be enough? It was in view of his home, yes, and it'd be protected by the thick grove of trees here, and he didn't have to leave her alone as much as he had before. Others may have trouble finding home, but he'd worry about that later. Reji was here, after all, and it was best for everyone to be centralized.

The linsang's ears radiated this way and that as he lowered himself back to the forest floor, finding the relatively dry patch below quickly. It was mushy- covered in moss and mud, but perhaps that only meant it would hold better. He could cover her with a blanket of ferns, perhaps. He just had to make her own room first. Taking in a deep breath, he held to her tight before shoving his paws into the mush, and-

That wasn't mush. A whimper escaped him as blazing hot pain ran through his claws. He'd hit something- a rock, embedded into the ground, must be the reason why all this mush was grown up around it. Hot damn that hurt. Hissing in a breath over his piece of mother and wincing, Pallas side-stepped until he felt the grass get mushier and mushier. Well, he could set up a fjord if he needed to keep the murk out.

He just had to try again.

P A L L A S
the man who sleeps with a knife
is a fool every night but one

Right, second time's the charm. Sucking in another breath, Pallas steeled his forelegs before shoving into the dirt below to test its softness. Right, this was good. Digging into the earth, he found it much more soft. With the rock beside it dug into the earth, perhaps this would work even better.

First step was to scrape out the moss, his claws stretching out to pull out clumps of greenery and muck. There- this would be good, yes. Already the mud was sticking to his fur, but this, this would be worth it. Hefty pants let out over mother's piece as he dug, throwing mud behind him and creating a sizable divot to lay her down in.

There. Reaching back and grabbing some of the mess of green, he laid it down before pulling around mud to create a wall about the crater he'd dug. It wasn't deep- not much, if at all, really- but it would have to do. He'd scraped his claws on the rock more than a few times, too. So, at least that side was good.

Already, water had begun to trickle deep down into the muddy hole, a small pool forming under all his hard work. He had to be quick. A soft sigh let out of his nostrils as he finally laid his piece to rest atop the dying moss, heartfelt satisfaction flooding his being. Now, he could worry about creating some sort of cover for her- but for now, he stepped back to watch how she was doing for at least a brief second.

@Game Master Dark

The wet was certainly not good for it. Damp was one thing; Cetus was another altogether.

But the scrap of fungus, as it was placed across the moss, spread. The moss itself withered, going colorless, dead, before the fuzzy white enveloped it--and though drops of moisture already beaded along it, the fungus went further. Sickly, in places--thin, wet--but still it spread: starfish arms, octopus tendrils, slithering out and branching here, there, to that fern, that tree root-...

A whisper, a murmur, distant but in Pallas' mind: 'Good...'

Relief. Approval. Gratitude.

It would take time to grow, and spread, but for now, its roots were planted--and that would have to be enough.

@Pallas