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Although Clarion had gone to bed a little while ago, he was sleeping fitfully. Something seemed off tonight, and it was making him nervous. The noises outside his house seemed louder than usual. His dwelling, little more than a hollowed-out tree stump with a branch-and-clay-chinked front room attached to it, seemed to amplify the noises. While this could be comforting at times, like on warm rainy nights, tonight it was quite upsetting. Sleep... just wouldn't be his tonight. So, grumbling a bit, he got up out of his nest of blankets and pillows and trudged out into the sitting room. Perhaps a cup of water would calm his nerves.

Clarion had a barrel in the kitchen that he used to collect water. The ingenious system had a funnel and piping that he'd made from bark, then coated with clay to seal it. It went outside so that rainwater would come in clean and stay in the barrel until he needed it. Dipping an acorn cup of water from this barrel, he went to go sit in his chair in the living room. He sipped at the water and wrapped himself in a blanket, staring at his darkened window. The rushlights gave off a nice, steady glow, but it didn't extend to the world outside. A world that was making... odd noises, odder now that he was close to them.

He frowned. Was somebody out there? That scraping wasn't really a usual nighttime noise. Slightly worried, he pulled himself out of the chair, leaving the acorn cup sitting on the floor behind him. Walking through the door, he called out into the night. "Who's there?" he called. Perhaps it was nobody, but if it was somebody, well then, better safe than sorry.

(1)

Tristan was not having a good go of things.

He was a smart young mouse, and an enterprising one to boot -- but domestic matters had never held much importance to him until recently. He had a mother, after all, and several sisters, and they all kept things neat and tidy and well-maintained so he'd never had to think about such base notions of home development.

Until, that is, he'd set out on his own to find his fortune on the banks of the river, and discovered very quickly that he knew next to nothing about house-building.

He knew, of course, that his own childhood home -- and most of the others besides -- were raised upon stilts, but it had never entirely occurred to him why. An aesthetic choice, perhaps, a trend...it had never fully gotten into his mind that perhaps there was a very good reason for the houses along the bank to be up away from the water.

So he had made the mistake of building his own home in the ground, where every mouse instinctively seeks to nest, and discovered very quickly that it was hardly comfortable.

At that precise moment, the little white mouse was sitting on a pile of leaves in the corner of a dank little mouse-hole, his cloak wrapped around him, his arms holding his knees to his chest, and he shivered a bit. Moisture seeped in through the walls, and a leak above his head dripped steadily next to his bed.

Pride had kept him from seeking aid at a reasonable time, and now that he was completely convinced of what a poor home he'd made for himself his poor bruised ego was incapable of suffering any further degradation. He'd gotten himself into this and he'd get himself right back out, just as soon as he figured out how to make a house on his own...

The sound from outside made him sit bolt upright, allowing his cape to fall back around his shoulders. He set down the seed he'd been absently playing with -- he'd been practicing a new palming technique to conceal it, for a trick he'd been in the process of perfecting -- and rose to his paws. The ground squished a bit beneath them. Oh, sweet meadows the entire house was going to cave in at this rate....but never mind that. There was someone outside.

Someone who might recognize him and realize what a miserable mess he'd made of his home!

Suddenly panicked, Tristan Swiftpaw scrambled for the door. Perhaps if he was lucky he could make his way outside and back around to confront the interloper and guide them away from his house! At least then he could pretend he'd just happened upon them, and maybe save his dignity. Elsewise what would he do once they found his door or -- horror of horrors -- the whole structure fell in upon itself right before them? He shuddered at the thought.

Quiet as -- daresay -- a mouse, the little magician crept out of his door and made his way stealthily outside.

Option 2

Jacob was tired but he still fiddled restlessly with his new nest... Most birds would just pile their sticks in a haphazard manner until it generally made a nest shape. However, Jacob was not most birds, and it had taken him a week of careful arranging and weaving to make his nest. The nest was nearly a perfect circle, and the sticks within it all flowed and interlaced with perfect coordination, creating an orderly, vaguely clockwise twist to the entire nest. Jacob had also found himself to be losing quite a bit of feathers in the past few days. He was certain it was because of stress, as it was too early to be molting season yet. Still, this gave him the chance to weave some of his own feathers into the wide nest, making it a bit softer. Jacob had never had furniture before, and as much as the other animals had stared at him he had declined any shopping expeditions to find such, though a few tattered pieces of colorful cloth were worked into the nest much like the feathers to further soften the nest of sticks.

It was actually probably one of the better constructed nests in woodhaven thanks to Jacob's obsessive need for orderly perfection but the great eagle was not happy. The nest felt...

Empty... lonely...

Built for two and with only one resident the nest seemed far too big for the solitary bird. It was nestled down an old tree that had died and split open leaving a hallow trunk with an access point at the top where the sky shone down on Jacob. He eventually planned to cover the top as he had the large opening in the side of the trunk with some cloth and leaves to keep the rain out, but that would have to wait. For now, Jacob was exhausted and he was just settling down to take a nap, glasses off and head tucked under his uninjured wing...

Skriiiiiit skriiiiiit skriiiiiit...

For a moment Jacob thought he imagined the noise, but when it repeated he blinked his tired eyes open and lifted his head, one wing folding out cautiously.

"H-hallo?" he said softly, looking towards the draping curtains that kept his home private from the world outside. His eyesight was terrible, he was probably better off trying to hear the visitor again anyways. As a new arrival he had been assaulted by friendly and curious animals of all sizes, but they made him nervous and he admitted that part of his extended nest building mission had been so he could be alone with his thoughts for a few days while having an excuse to avoid people...

"H-hallo!? Ist anyvon there? You are allowed to come een..." he repeated nervously...

1. Take the creature with the Puppybug eyes in search of it's home.

Rubbing his eyes, Robert blinked, making sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

No… the image still didn’t change.

He tried rubbing them, and slapped his face a couple times to wake himself up, and looked again.

Nope, still the same.

Dumbstruck, he only stared at the little ladybug on the ground, giving him the most pitiful look he’d ever seen. How did ladybugs make scraping sounds? No, better yet, how did it get into the TUNNELS?

He scratched the back of his head, still trying to figure out how this happened. Why would a ladybug be in Hallowmarl? It was a hot, hot place…

The ladybug continued to look at him, bottom lip quivering. It uttered a single word. Lost.

Robert sighed. He wasn’t particularly excited about playing babysitter to the tiny bug, especially since his burrow was nothing fancy, just a pile of sand. Still, he somewhat pitied the poor thing. Being lost definitely was no fun.

He knelt down, and put a paw out.

“Come on, little guy, guess we’ll find out where you came from.”

The ladybug hesitated for a second. Seeming to decide Robert was safe, it slowly climbed onto its paw.

A soft chuckle escaped Robert’s lips, and he placed the ladybug on his shoulder. Taking one last look to make sure everything was tidy, he travelled the tunnel system to find his way out.

"... Right, then."

Baneberry crouched down to peer at the ladybug, scrunching up his face as it made a cute little repetitive noise. Lost, lost, lost.

"Lost, then, I hear."

That could mean anything! Perhaps it had lost treasure, or had a long lost twin, or lost its fortune gambling and fighting! Yes, that. This was a battlebug! Glancing back to his 'home,' Bane tilted his head. He had been planning on going out to wrangle himself a bite. Maybe the battlebug had lost his lunch and wanted to share it. Yes, most definitely.

"Well, come on, then!"

And so they were off.

[1]

Obviously, from the expression on his face, Ralph was not amused. His paw was still placed holding back to leaf-made door, head tilted down to the miniscule creature on the ground. Knitting his brows together and staring down at the ladybug, a silent watcher may have been forced to ask exactly what the bug had done in a previous time to such greatly offend the hedgehog. Nothing, of course. Ralph was just lord of the jerks. Lord of the jerks who felt it much more important to return to dreary work, then bother with such a silly, tiny life form.

"Lost."

Big-puppy dog eyes and a quivering lip didn't seem to be helping the ladybugs case.

Ralph opens his mouth, and quickly clamps it back shut. He had been looking for something intelligent to respond with, a good line to get the bug to leave and find someone else to help, but gave up on the words. He chose instead to close the door.

Yeah. He didn't have time to deal with little lost lady-bugs. He had work to do. Ralph let out a stubborn snort, ambling back over to his work station. Who did that bug think it was? Bothering him. Getting all lost and helpless while he was so busy. With such, uh, important work...

With an annoyed sigh, Ralph was heading back to the door.

The bug was still out there, wings shaking and eyes brimming wet at the previous moments rude goodbye.

"...you can come in for one meal. But then you have to go, and find someone else to help you get home. Okay? Okay."

Maybe someone was out looking for the thing. By the time a meal had passed, maybe they would be knocking at his door and would collect the bug. Easy. That's what he was hoping, anyway.

( 2 )

Tristan made his way toward the sound -- which was much louder, now he was above-ground, and also sounded far more skittery and much less mousey -- and tried to look nonchalant. Oh, what's that? Was he just wandering freely along the riverbank, sightseeing in this area that of course he didn't live in, when he just so happened to find a....

....wait.

He stopped, blinked, and stared down at the ladybug. He blinked again, his ears flattening back to his head. Cautiously, he peered around, verifying that the ladybug was, in fact, the only person nearby. Once satisfied that they were alone together, the white mouse kneeled down, peering curiously at the creature.

"Well, hello little one," he said, reaching out a hand for its antennae to feel. "Lost, are you? Hm."

A lost little ladybug. How thoroughly interesting. How potentially useful. Never know when you might be able to use a ladybug -- specifically a talking ladybug. Immediately, Tristan's thoughts were buzzing with possibilities. He could teach her new words, perhaps, with time. Talking ladybug could fetch a mighty fine price at market....or help him to sell his best tricks.

Oh, my! What a fortune to fall upon! Tristan's eyes were alight with an enterprising gleam, a dozen schemes already rolling through his thoughts.

"Can't be having you lost out in the cold," he said, breezily, despite the weather being rather warm really. "Come along, then, into the house you go and we'll get you some dinner and a nice warm bed." What did ladybugs eat? What did they sleep in? Oh, did it matter? Anything to get it to follow him home!