one more to the chest, and I'm alone

In a pinch, the man knew that a sturdy seashell made an excellent scraper for hides. In a bid to diminish the resources wasted so they could treat their new hides, he was coming the beach for discarded scallop and mussel shells. The edges were sharp yet sturdy, and perfectly shaped for the task of pulling hair from a treated skin. Head low between muscular shoulders, he let his attention rove the dark sands in search of any pale colours standing out against the substrate. He already clutched a large scallop shell between his teeth, taking care not to clench his jaw too hard and crush it by accident. Something especially shiny caught his eye, and he paused to slowly unearth it with the side of his paw. It revealed itself to be a large glass jar, half full of sand and a bit scratched up, but otherwise perfectly intact. There was no lid to be found, but he would take what he could get. They could just cover it with a waterproof skin and bind it shut with twine if it needed to be kept shut. The mouth wasn't quite wide enough to fit his scallop into for carrying, so he opted to roll it a ways up the beach and away from the tide's grasp. He set the shell beside it, and plodded down the beach to resume his search.

Despite spotting plenty of shells, most of them ended up being shattered crab carapaces. He discarded them with a flick of his wrist, and often let them skitter into the waves to be tossed around. The next carapace he stumbled onto happened to still be occupied, though he quickly dispatched the feisty critter with a careful swat of his paw and crunched it between his jaws. Looked like it was time for a snack before he got back to his search. Settling down beside his jar and his shells, he started to pick apart his meal.