For most creatures who preferred bright shafts of light to spill through Tunnel F's infinite canopy and dapple the fertile earth beneath it, the time was far too early for them to rouse from their deep sleeps. While they huddled in their small and secret dens, dreaming, a cool breeze whisked through the tangled trees. Bark shifted away from its touch, and the tunnel yawned open farther to admit a familiar wanderer into its presence. The hood of her golden cloak drawn up, one could not identify her by the curl of her pointed ears or the bronze mark upon her feline face, but that mattered little when she was unique amongst all creatures she deigned to grace with her presence. Who else could this giant serpentine figure be, after all, but Miriam come to fulfill whatever shallow desires she pleased.

Dim as it was, gems glistened on her shoulders wherever she weaved. Paws whose claws could promise pain as easily as gentleness gripped branches every so often upon her passage. At times she paused to inspect these closer, bending them up and down to observe them from every possible angle. Testing them to meet an unknown standard.

Cracks disrupted the current silence each instance she unleashed her full might and broke a particular branch away. She tucked it then under her muscular arm to calmly carry off.

Were she a smaller Gembound, the weight of the collected wood would have sapped more readily at her strength and sent her toppling to the ground. Instead the hefty amount was considered nothing more than a simple restocking of materials for her innocent arts and crafts. Once she'd enough, the great tatzelwurm would retire with a couple pieces to a sturdy perch in the trees to practice her carving. Lazy as she was prone to being, practice made perfect, and that perfection would lead to beauty divine.

Making art from a place nestled within tree limbs was a precarious position to take. At least it would have been if not for the individual involved and the exact tunnel she was in. At weak spots where woven together trees failed to provide a safe net to contain stacked wood or carving implements, thick coils of golden scales wrapped around the items in question and gave them a living cradle to rest in. Any that became needed were pushed forward then to Miriam's paws, at which point she swapped them for whatever she'd previously held. The system might have appeared an odd one, but for her form it worked. Everything went precisely where she wanted it while barely shifting any muscles but the required ones, satisfying her low energy life style to the fullest extent.

Up until present, most of her work had been sifting through her gathered branches and determining which best had the proper girth and height to accommodate her plans. Having reach a state of contentment with her choice, she had now moved on to prepping the wood for carving. Well-honed claws penetrated outer bark and stripped it away as easily as a properly sharpened knife separated flesh from bone. A tough, scaled palm brushed away any remnants, splinters a nonexistent concern. It reached next for a blade and settled the edge upon the exposed grain. For a moment, it hovered there as the Tatzelwurm stared down, her pink tongue caressing a canine in intense consideration.

Naturally there was an obvious choice for a subject to render a wooden replica of, but alas, her visage would have to be saved for a later date when her skills would better do herself justice. This left far less deserving options, according to her critical eye: vermin and beasts halfway to perfection. So many distasteful traits to recount among every one, these were difficult to narrow down, but with an eye roll and a long-suffering sigh of "well, I suppose that will do," she eventually picked an encounter that proved more fascinating than revolting.

Working with the grain of the wood, the knife swept along the bark-stripped branch. Shavings showered on the tunnel path from the canopy as Miriam carved away, and between her paws a new shape began to form.

A blocky head tilted upward in askance, a lithe but muscular body sat on its haunches, and ears came to blunt, rounded points so unlike hers.

Lacking the living being as reference at the moment, despite the main characteristics being successfully captured, minute flaws distorted the overall image into something that would've likely struck the subject as mildly uncanny if he ever were to see it. The attempt to emulate a child whose limbs had not yet grown to become equal in proportion only resulted in paws too large and a snout perhaps longer than necessary. If she gained the opportunity to meet a Gembound of the more ursine persuasion, clearly she'd learn that her carving possessed more in common with a burly grizzly than a smilodon. For now, she merely continued on with representing the figure as best as could be recalled.

Had Hades a long tail to coil around those paws? No, she decided, a stubby one incapable of anything of the sort.

Every once in a while she asked herself similar questions, disagreement or confident recollection guiding her knife's glide over wood. Eventually, pleased by the progress thus far, Miriam took more aggressive swipes, knocking off any excess that had still managed to avoid removal.

Shifting coils exchanged her current tool for one better at creating fine details. She picked it up and leveled its point at where eyes belonged.

Although at the moment she made no considerable effort in concealing herself within the tunnel’s expansive canopy, any Gembound striding the leaf-strewn path below who lacked the awareness to consider predators overhead might’ve quickly regretted their negligence upon the sudden incensed hiss issuing from somewhere within the branches. Startlement could have morphed to fright at the agitated scraping of claws on bark which followed. Then that alarming utterance’s harshening into an unmistakable feline snarl would’ve undoubtedly sent the most faint-hearted scurrying for the closest exit.

Miriam’s ears were flattened against her skull while dark lips peeled back to fully display wicked fangs. Every malevolent glimmer contained in the depths of her oceanic gaze she reserved for the substandard product perched between paws: a bastardized version of memory, deformed beyond belief. If it weren’t the fact it was hers, and therefore above much-deserved destruction, she would’ve found a way to torch the disgrace through mental power alone. Irrevocably tied to it via the act of creation, she had settled for death glares and venting whatever frustration bled past her restraint on the defenceless surroundings.

Oh, it disgusted her so. Everything about it—the eyes etched on different levels, the protruding planks substituting for saber teeth, the pointless parallel lines that failed to read as fur detail—rubbed her scales the wrong direction. But, no, she’d have to accept this abomination, horrendous though it was; better to remove these flaws early lest it infect her later works.

At least it remained unfinished. Mayhap a good application of dyes would curb the disgust churning in her stomach. First she’d need the materials, but those wouldn’t pose a problem. Much as she loathed work, the travel the search required ought to lend ease to her mind.

She’d start by gathering the pigments needed in the most supply. From there, she would focus on those necessary for the finishing touches, hopefully better handled than this present disaster.

Naturally the best place to find the Lesser-grown variety of pigmentation would be in the trees. Twined together to form a massive haven for those who perched on or scrambled along branches, always there was a thriving population to gather fur or feathers from. One needn't even dig in fangs or claws to still their trembling hearts due to the plentiful stray bits scattered amongst the canopy, snagged upon jutting twigs. The better for Miriam whose stomach, once satiated by the occasional feast, lacked the appetite to hunt down tiny morsels and who harbored no patience for painstakingly plucking her catches naked, exchanging materials for luxuriously tailored cloaks aside. She'd start here before bothering to descend to the ground level to paw around for more sources of color. If fortune understood well who deserved to be favored, she might never need to waste the energy for such a departure at all.

Fortune damnably turned out to be a blind fool that did not know when to cease playing games.

Of course, there was always the possibility that not a single grey feather might be found. Native birds exhibited gaudier plumage than her current desire: blues, reds, yellows, and so on. But nevertheless the hope had persisted that maybe a winged traveller had carelessly left behind evidence of their passage through the tunnel. It was dashed after an exhausting few minutes winding through tangled tree limbs and receiving nothing more than startled squawks from long-time residents possessing little worth her interest.

She didn't deign to acknowledge her failure other than a short puff of air through nostrils. The search would continue, leaving this annoyance behind.

The following finds were a fluke more than a result of hard work. In fact the very first had been discovered through the aid of an idle breeze that had carried the loose feather right to her nose. It had tickled inky black barbs against her, and Miriam had scrunched up her face, resisting the urge to sneeze. She then seized it, her golden palm sealing it away from the wind's nomadic influence. The next course of action had then been to trace the path such an unexpected catch had taken to her. A hunter, if a relatively infrequent one, the tatzelwurm proved this to be mere child's play.

Her paw still clenched around that feather snared at an opportune moment, she used her unoccupied one to determine the direction of the wind. A claw lifted and tested the gust blowing by before it could fade away into obscurity. Curled ears perked up and a smugness wrote itself in lips stretched taut, threatening to part and reveal the full extent of her jaw. Scale-clad coils slowly unwound as she went on a stroll. No point in rushing: bird feathers tended to drift when suspended in the air.

Not too many had been shed from the back of whoever had flown this way. Only a few more dared to spiral close enough to be plucked and tucked beside the original enclosed in her fist. However they would suffice for a small amount of the darker dye she required. Likely, much as she loathed the additional effort, she'd indeed have to scrounge about in the soil for stones of the proper shade.

Now onward to the more common colors, an easy prospect that set a purr vibrating in her throat.

Always the rule remained when finding feathers of the most vibrant hue: If possible, seek out your closest rainbow spinner flock. This piece of conventional wisdom Miriam had coined after cycles of exploiting the area's wildlife for her own personal needs. So far it failed to be disproved, the aforementioned birds too common and docile for any aspect of them to linger outside her reach.

Often she couldn't help but ponder how they well avoided extinction, even taking into account their tendency toward proliferation. How utterly daft they were to simply perch and stare at any creature not openly baring their fangs or daring to swipe at one of their number. But considering the other naive, empty-headed rabble that clogged the caves, chattering incessantly away over the most mundane and boring of topics, perhaps she underestimated how easy it was for imbecility to flourish. Uncaring of results, they pointlessly multiplied, heedless to whether or not their offspring emerged fundamentally lacking in useful or admirable qualities.

No point in disrupting the clueless gathering of spinners that chirped and hopped about the section of branches she slithered around, Miriam ignored them in favor of picking through whatever fluffy feathers had flown free from the lining of their nests. Too much rainbow iridescence potentially tainting any dye with unwanted colors, the focus for gathering was on smaller ones that might be mercifully more monotone for her purposes. A sizeable cluster filled her palm in the end, most bright enough to blend in with the lightest green leaves of the canopy.

She'd see if a touch of yellow could be located as well amongst the birds. The tiniest amount might lean the planned mixture toward a more chartreuse appearance should the extra pigment be applied an appropriate amount.

No, Miriam arrived at the conclusion after a few brief seconds of picking through the remaining feathers from the rainbow spinners she'd yet to reject, none of these were sufficient for her needs. Where feathers solely yellow were sought, most proved too multicolored or a hue that fell entirely outside of her scope. There existed a single last resort she could explore, and then she'd have to lower herself to rooting around in the dirt: berries bore by some trees, even bushes if she must bother leaving branches behind sooner rather than later. If her search turned out fruitless despite its very objective, the inevitable would have to be accepted, and to rock hunting she would reluctantly slither.

Snout wrinkling as eyes narrowed into focused ultramarine slashes, an inhale tried to detect the often sweet scent of flowers. She departed from the presence of the birds whose nest building inclinations had partially helped her gathering, jaw open a sliver to allow the possible trail being followed to permeate more than her nostrils. Here's to hoping it didn't fade or lead to worse prospects. While known to be a treat for others, she'd never been the type to indulge in berries too much. Distinguishing the different varieties might be difficult without the proper experience to do so.

Remarkable how, despite the bounty dangling from them, the section of canopy housing these berries refused to bend under their substantial weight. Miriam needn't have entertained any concerns about being unable to locate this particular source of pigment as their presence here was impossible for even drifting eyes to miss. Were they not so common, each gleaming drupelet that composed a single berry could've easily been mistaken for tiny, precious citrines clustered together. A shame she'd tracked down such a haven that would've made any avid frugivore drool. Without more than a minor use for them, only a meager amount could be snatched from the available supply: less than half a dozen, not even close to filling her scaly grasp.

Now came the part she despised. Out of more desirable options—after all, who'd ever heard of grey or black berries in these tunnels—the ground and its inherent drudgery awaited. She'd return to her crafting spot to deposit this latest acquisition alongside the previous ones first, then resign herself to coaxing unenthusiastic coils down rough bark.

She'd underestimated how much this tunnel wished to vex her so. Forced by a lack of more desirable resources to gather, these past few minutes had consisted of her scraping away at the ground like some common burrowing beast. Such an awful indignity to suffer, and even worse, not a single solitary pebble had yet to be recovered from the loamy soil that now dulled her paws' lustrous scales. She withdrew them, a scornful sniffle directed at the filthy sight, before redirecting her glare to the freshly worn hole in the earth she had created.

A fertile place for new life to spring from but utterly devoid of anything useful for her purposes. In sum, an utter waste of time and effort. Nevertheless, she could not cease this drudgery despite the persistent urge to abandon it to lesser beings. Without anyone else to pass the work along to, all that could be done was to press on and pray for eventual compensation.

Lips curled into a grimace. Miriam smacked her paws against each other to rid them of excess dirt and turned her eyes to another site. Surely a change of location would yield better results.