Beast needed a solid place to stay. If he was gonna truly make a name for himself, he had to have someplace to call home.

Cepheus was too unnatural. Sure, there were bunches of pretty flowers, but it was all so restrictive. Ursa was too freezing. Orion was too ruinous, and Tunnel P was too... Tunnel P-y. He needed someplace to himself that was just right in every quality. And he already knew where that was.

Tunnel E. Of course, Beast did not know it as that name. To him it was simply "The Stream Tunnel". It was chilly, but not too chilly, and they had a dense coat to keep warm. A fast-moving creek flowed down the length, perfect for bringing fish and fresh water to him. Not to mention it was just between two of his favorite caves! There really was no better place to set up a home.

The tentacled beast shambled down the tunnel from Cepheus late at night. Cavelight reflected off his gem and dew sparkled on his tentacles. Few other creatures seemed to be awake at this hour-- save for a lone red rat drinking by the stream-- so he got the privilege of pure, uninterrupted quiet. Or perhaps it was a curse. Beast liked hearing people speak. One of his hooves tripped on a pebble: this was a common occurrence for the hybrid so he watched it skip away barely bothered. Eventually he was almost smack-center down the passageway, which wasn't very far given how incredibly short the tunnel was. A footless leg kneaded the ground. The soil was soft here. Perfect.

He already had a vague idea of what he was going to do. He was going to dig, partially into the wall so travelers didn't trample it, a small burrow. The part open to the air will be covered by woven grasses. Inside he'll arrange more barley to create a bird-like nest inside, a few stacked stones to keep it up, and outside will be decorated by his favorite flower-- oranges! (They're actually pumpkins, but don't tell him.)

A few sweeps of his tentacles to push aside loose rocks, and the hexapod was on his knees and digging. It was pretty hard, considering the way his knees buckled in different directions, the way his too-many joints rubbed against each other, and the fact he only had hooves and stumps to work with. Still, he managed to push into the frozen soil after nearly an hour of digging and grunting and frosty puffs of air. And an hour later he would stand up, tired, and look upon one nicely-dug hole.

Step number two: weaving.

And he was damn good at that part.

By all known laws of building, there's no way a gembound with six legs and four feet should be able to weave. It's hooves are too stumpy to grasp the slippery straws between them. The gembound, of course, weaves anyway, because he is far too stubborn to try anything else. Also because he has tentacles.

Beast started off padding down the river looking for any grasses. There were plenty of the little things growing around the banks and waving in the wind. With a sharp tug of his feelers, he ripped them out (shivering a bit from the frost) and carried the bundle back to his hole. The hybrid laid it on the ground, sat down, and began shifting the barley around for construction.

The rest of the process went smoothly. Incredibly smoothly, even. Beast fell into a pattern of grabbing a set of sod, crisscrossing the strands, and slightly pulling it up so it formed a canopy. Once he was finished, he stepped back with a smile to admire his work. He really was good at this!