Mar me mot

The thing about these tunnels that was a good thing was that they were strewn with usable supplies. Ever since the prey had started to behave strangely, Ursus wanted nothing to do with hunting the creatures with his own teeth and claws. Thinking about becoming sick made his stomach churn and throat burn. At least he could craft some traps and get food that way. Being able to pick through his options was better than nothing. And he could bring the sick ones a swift and painless death; the least that they deserved.

Keeping his head lowered toward the ground, Ursus moves quietly through the tunnel. His claws scuffle against the dirt on purpose, attempting to discover anything of use covered by years of grime and litter. Not far into the tunnel, an offshoot grabs his attention. A faint light revealing a small collapse that now allowed the red painted daylight to shine into the dim inner workings of the room.

Glancing around the decently sized room, his eyes widen and lips curl upward in a grin. This clearly had been used as a storage room once upon a time with the amount of wooden boxes piled all around. Items from glass tubes to lengths of fraying rope to metal wire to many other things he had no name for were filling not only the crates but spilling out onto the floor.

Remembering the scent of marmots he had passed on his way up to the mine, Ursus decided right then and there that he would craft some snares to catch them as they came out of their dens nestled between the rocks of the mountain. All he would need is some… Aha! A bundle of orange-tinged material that appeared bendable, but not too soft fell from a crate he nudged with his nose. Now, where had Locke gone off to to help him craft these traps?