...whoa. This place is
cool.
Aviatrix doesn't know what they were expecting when they were running through the undergrowth. They weren't expecting anything at all, actually—they were just running around for the sake of it because they had a lot of energy and they were
bored and this was better than just standing around or sleeping. But, man…
...this is just… wow. They can't help but stop and stare, taking everything in; from the paths, to the houses, to the stuff within them…
And, luckily for them, the camp seems almost empty right now. The only gembound they can see is some weird bipedal one making something out of mud, and while the action doesn't interest them all that much—there's nothing
shiny, only mud, mud, and more mud—that does mean he's distracted.
And distraction means he won't notice or try to chase after them when they do find something shiny and steal it. Hey, maybe if they're
really lucky he won't even notice it's missing until they're long gone! This is a place full of plants, after all; it's easy to lose someone in them.
With soft, careful paws, they creep closer. Carefully, they stick to the edges of walls and shadows cast by huts, staying pointedly away from the main paith. In the dappled underbrush, their spotted pelt blends in perfectly; out on the dirt path, they stick out like a sore paw.
The biggest hut looks the coolest, to them, but a single passover doesn't reveal anything particularly interesting. There are metal rods dug straight into the ground, something that gave them pause, but on further notice and sniffing and even tugging on them, they find the rods, despite their shininess, hardly give.
So it's further into the camp they go, prowling towards the second hut—not even a hut, really, more like a tarp, held up by several big sticks. Those, too, are thoroughly sniffed at, and some of the urns are even looked into, but their search still yields no results.
Surely there must be valuables somewhere in this place? There's gotta be
something for them to steal—it's too big not to!
Eventually, after
lots more prowling, carefully making their way down another path, ducking beneath ferns and generally being very very sneaky and not there, they stumble upon something that finally catches their eye.
It's not shiny, per se. Not at all; there are still no shinies here to speak of.
But… looking at the collection of wooden figures, little animals and stuff
all made out of wood... Aviatrix has to digress that maybe treasure doesn't always have to be shiny. Because the works made here, lined up on a big old table, painstakingly carved in perfect detail, right down to the texture of the fur…
...yeah. That's
cool.
They think they've finally found their thing to steal. But—which
one?
The deer catches their eye first, mostly because it looks the most detailed and also because it seems to be intentionally obscured by a few strips of something brown, hiding away the main part of it. The
mystery in it intrigues them in a way they can't resist. They want to see the whole thing! What kind of deer is hiding behind those leather strips?
Still as careful as ever to not make any noise, they dig their claws into a wooden leg and clamber up onto the table, weaving between the other wooden carvings to stare directly at the deer. Tail beginning to wag in excitement, they grip one of the strips with their teeth and pull it away…
The deer is detailed enough to feel real. Intricate down to the detail of its hooves, it looks like it could leap off of the workbench and run away at any moment. Aviatrix's eyes trail up from its legs, to its neck, to its face…
...a face that holds wide, terrified eyes. A face that holds an expression that
looks into them; the carving seems to question them, as if saying
have you felt fear?
Aviatrix makes it a point to
not feel fear, actually. They live for risking it all, putting their dignity on the line!—but never have they ever really been in danger. Never have they risked their actual
life...
...but the deer, staring into their soul, looks like it had.
With a terrified yelp, they topple off of the workbench, falling back-first into the dirt. Don't like that—don't like that at all!

@Attikias