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The young rooter had a tiny space to call his own. Or, to occasionally call his own. It was understood among the community within the dark, deep treeline that this, among other similar tree-homes, was an open, free space for those youths without family to share. They could come or go, when they weren't being "fostered" by an adult within the tribe. It was full of 'junk' collected by the little ones, some of it actually useful, most of it for pretend, instruments and 'weapons'.

Baneberry was here now, a pawful of seeds making its way into his belly as it grumbled. He would've preferred maybe an egg, or a bite of fish, but that would have to wait until he got up the gumption to head out and see who he could charm, bully, guilt into gifting him a bite.

A flick of the ear as a scrape sounded against the exterior of his 'home,' and Bane wrinkled his nose. Another squatter? Oh, well, he sort of liked the company.... Depending. Shoving the last of the seeds into his mouth [so he didn't have to share], the young ferret made his way outside to take a look.

[ 1 ]

Down in the dim of the network of tunnels that comprised Hallowmarl, a pale mouse lounged in her modest abode. It was not terribly close to the workshops where she made glassware to earn her keep, but not really a posh upper tunnel either; Deidre was somewhere in the middle, and preferred it that way. It was all the better to be able to keep an eye or an ear on everyone else. The sand was shored well, so even if it didn't look fancy or promise durability, it was a better home than some had. She was proud of her handiwork.

She had been roused from her languid half-doze on her bench/table/bed by a scraping sound, a skritch skritch skritch of the sort that could wear on the nerves given the chance. Diedre didn't intend to.

Stretching and inwardly cursing - agh, hope someone's not trying to dig into my house again - she called out a warning, "There's a den here already!" After a moment of thought, she followed that with, "If you're looking for me, you'd better come in."

Dirt flew everywhere as small paws dug and dug into the hot sand. A head popped up every now and then to peer around cautiously before going back to it's task. Though the world outside seemed empty of existence, and dull to boot. This was Rikiki, a small and rather twitchy mouse. "Diggy diggy diggy new home~" She squeaked, repeating her little words in a rhythm as she worked. Her last home had collapsed, though she could never quite figure out why (though it was rather hastily made). A bag that lay outside the den was soon yanked into the deep cavern, where it's contents were strewn in random places. A loosely woven rug that was in bad need of repair was pulled to cover the floor, and a long rolled up cushion full of sweetgrass was flopped into a corner. She sneezed as she dropped it, issuing sand out of her nose. "Geh, t'ont be so much up me nose!" She grumbled, rubbing her paws across her face quickly. She pulled a loose shift from the bag and pulled it over her head, before she flopped upon her cushion with a giggle. A bag of water and a few rolls came from the bag, before she lay contently eating and taking a swig of lukewarm water.

Her red-eyed gaze looked around at her quick handiwork before she sighed. She would expand on it more later and possibly barter with some nearby ruffian for decent furniture, perhaps a few more cushions.... Her thoughts came back to the present as she heard shuffling outside on the sand. It sounded like someone was trying to find a way in! Thinking for a moment on whether to go out, she called out, a dagger finding it's way into her hand from the bag. "T'aint an empty hole, either show yourself or go away, y'brute!" She yelled out of her hole, before wiggling out to get a better look at who was offending on her space.

[chose numero 1~]

It wasn't much. But not much- that was good enough for Ralph. A single bed to call his own, two makeshift chairs, and a long, stone table drowning in all his collected trinkets and junk- good enough. Home. Surrounded by the bare, cracking tunnel walls of Hallowmarl, the hard, cold stone beneath his feet. The place he had grown-up. The very room he had spent the entirety of his life (so far). Obviously, Ralph wasn't big on change.

Not big on talking, either. The young hedgehog was working in silence, standing over a cleaned area of the table. It seemed to be delicate work- his brow furrowing in concentration, fingers gingerly picking up the next seed. The small pile in front of him was an assortment of shapes and dull, earthy colours- while to his left, he was working on sorting each different seed with its respective family. Delicate, and boring. Work was work, though. Ralph huffed lightly, tossing another 'thin, short, pale green' into the 'thin, short, pale green' pile. He paused, glancing to the pile furthest from arms length. Only three of the 'dark brown, oval shapes' he had been hoping for. Those were the important ones. Those were the ones that, after a few more changes, would trade for more. If you knew who was looking to buy such thi- scritch, scritch.

Ralph's ears swivelled to the sound, his head turning a moment later. It sounded, to him, as if someone was scratching at the wall outside. He scowled- Ralph didn't get many guests, and honestly...found it a rare thing to enjoy any conversation with strangers at his door.

He moved towards the 'door' of his den- stitched leaves that blocked the entrance- moving the cover to the side to greet who-ever was creating the bothersome sound, lips already curling slightly in annoyance at abandoning his work.

(( Option 1! owo ))

skrtchscritch

Nothing stirred inside the dark interior of the house despite the soft scratching outside. As a matter of fact, the small hive-like construction- wound out of branches and in the highest section of trees- seemed oddly...
Vacant.
There was no eye-catching trinkets or large pieces of furniture, a little piece of knotted wood (that anyone would swear looked strikingly like a slightly squished mole's face on one side) might have been a chair, a pile of neatly assorted waxy leaves that might have been some sort of strange table-slash-place-to-stuff-one's-face, a few acorn tops and half-walnut shells covered with leaves that may or may not have held supplies and various things to nibble on, and a hole in the roof that was nearly impossible to spot unless you were looking.
skrrritscritch
All in all, staring through the few little cracks in the walls that constituted as windows, one would think the house was completely void of inhabitants.
Except for the semi-large ferret flopped in the corner on his back, limbs akimbo and clearly asleep, mouth open with a small puddle of drool forming. Obviously the scratching was hardly garnering his attention.
skrtscritch

A twitch of the foot.

skrtchscritch

Finally he opened one eye, mildly annoyed that his tactic of 'maybe if I lay here long enough and pretend to still be sleeping it'll go away' didn't work.
He flipped over nimbly, stretching and looking at the place where a door should be (and to any outside observer, there indeed was a flap of leaves that looked to be an entrance. It was only from being on the inside of the abode that it became apparent the 'door' was actually just the wall) before shimmying up through the hole in the roof (the bother wasn't even worth putting his cape and boots on honestly) and popping out like a fuzzy, P.O'd jack-in-the-box, scanning the area where the faux-door was.
"In the name of all, what d'ya want at this hour?!"

1. Go outside to see what it is.


Robert began to doze off, when a sudden scratching sound woke him up.

Blinking groggily, he looked around, wondering where it was coming from. Deciding it was just his imagination, and flopped back onto his bed… until the scratching sound arose again.

He groaned, and flopped over in his bed, scattering dead leaves.

“5 more minutes…” he moaned, covering his ears.

He almost fell back asleep too, when he heard the scratching sound again, more persistent.

Annoyed, he got up, and fixed his bed, rectangular-shaped structure made from the sand, topped with a layer of dead dried leaves he collected outside. What he wouldn’t give for some fresh soft leaves… but he wouldn’t find those in such a hot place…

Looking around the room, he eyed his furniture, also molded from sand, mixed with a little water for sturdiness. It was so plain… yet, suited his living style just fine. He didn’t need to decorate his house with meaningless baubles. Neat and functional was the main purpose.

Remembering what he got up for, he sighed and reached over for his cape, which was held up by protrusions from the wall, made from hardened sand.

Wrapping it around his shoulders and fastening it with the golden feather, he headed towards the entrance of his burrow and prepared to climb out.

(Option #1 - Go outside.)

"And...done," Silvia murmured, setting the completed toy on the floor in front of her. Surveying her work, she smiled and set about gathering up the completed works for the day to put them away until later. She'd find an opportunity to gift some lucky children tomorrow or the next day; today had been fairly productive enough and she was starting to feel a bit drowsy. Best to listen to one's body and nap when tired, as she'd learned.

She was still getting herself completely settled in here in Hallowmarl, so her home wasn't anything especially luxurious, at least not yet. Maybe eventually. For now, she had what she needed to survive, and that was good enough. Necessities first; frivolous luxuries later. A scrap of cloth, found on one of her raids outside of Hallowmarl, lay on the floor to prevent the worst of the sand from becoming lost in her fur as she slept. A few pawfuls of leaves provided some cushioning; as little as she needed, having been used to much more uncomfortable sleeping conditions at times. Two generally smooth, or at least not exceedingly jagged, rocks served as simple seats next to a larger rock, serving as her table, which completed the amount of furniture thus far in her new home.

She crossed to the cloth and leaves on the floor, intending to settle in for a nice nap before any other activities today, when a strange sound caught her attention. Instantly on the alert, her ears twitched and focused on the noise. A slight...scratching? Coming from outside? She'd picked a relatively secluded branch from the main tunnels in which to build her home, so she didn't have many visitors wandering her way. Concern building, her eyes glanced over the floor, then she reached out for her dagger without a sound. Crouched low to the ground, she crept closer to the door, old habits returning by instinct and she moved in complete silence. Upon reaching the entrance to her home, she pressed her ear to the tunnel wall, trying to hear if the sound continued and maybe determine its source. No such luck, as all she could tell was that it was still happening outside.

Bracing herself for whatever may lurk outside her home, she slipped out, pressing herself into the shadows, dagger in hand. She hoped for the best, but prepared for the worst. Nothing would threaten her new home here.