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Briefly, starlight speckles the hanging night. Their presence is rare because of the imminent Rain that swallows the sight of them shortly after the rise of the moon, but for what it’s worth, they are a curious wonder to behold.
It can’t be witnessed for very long. Already, the tendrils of storm clouds begin to form overhead as a sign that this cycle is nearing its end. As the first droplets hit the ground and the waves of Shoreline start to rise, a lone Slugcat rushes across rickety wooden floorboards. There is no immediate shelter, and so the only refuge that it might seek lies within an arcane structure that has persisted against the deluge through its situation underneath a steep cliff.
The Survivor has no idea what a “house” is or might be, only a vague notion of its purpose being relative to what it has been inferred by Looks to the Moon’s melancholic chatter. They are, to its understanding, a more primitive version of the dens that it must take up every cycle. In an era long before, when the Ancients still roamed freely across the earth without the need for Iterators, they made these abodes with brick and mortar in a similar fashion to the abandoned city that Five Pebbles had been designed to overlook underneath. The Slugcat cannot comprehend luxury, but it imagines that it is probably similar to when it had lived with its family before the floods separated them.
The Rain strengthens and the clouds thicken. The Survivor’s immediate respite from the gushing torrent, though, is already in sight: like Moon had said, a two-story house consisting of dried clay slabs stacked on top of each other in the formation of a wide cube. A shingled roof protects the top from the water that slid down from jagged stalactites from the mountainside, meaning that it should be relatively dry within. All of this perched over high poles that elevate it from the ocean’s apex.
The ivory being rushes forward over the connecting overpass, soon shielded from the hefty downpour as it approaches the building. The scent of mildew and aged timber causes its nose to wrinkle in distaste, but beggars can’t be choosers. The door has already fallen off of its hinges and now rests before the open entrance, warped by age. The Survivor treads over it with caution, ears pricked upwards in anticipation for any unseen predators that might be lurking within.
Silence, broken only by the Rain.
Danger is a constant threat, but perhaps it is safe here until the next cycle. The Slugcat pushes on, placing its prized spear between its teeth as it steps inside. A woven carpet, clawed and pulling apart at the seams, sprawls over the floor on the other side of the doorway. The coarseness of it irritates the Survivor’s paws with its touch, and it quickly steps off the mat while nosing around the rest of the house. Three rooms on the first floor, all with splintered doors in some variation - convenient that it doesn’t have to exert much effort in trying to open them on its own, being as small as it is.
It enters the one farthest from the doorway, which happens to be the one with the most whole door. Only a splintering hole large enough for the Slugcat to pass through disrupts it, which the Survivor covers with various baubles that are strewn across the chamber. For a place so old, the guts of it are surprisingly attached.
The snowy animal looks around with wide eyes. Aside from the nick-nacks it had repositioned against the door hole and the spear resting nearby to it, not much else was there to be observed. Only the bed holds much interest to it. Moon had referred to one in passing, and while the beast has only ever known the cold steel and moist leaves of hibernation pods, it is curious to try sleeping in one regardless of whether or not it would progress the cycle.
With eager hands, it scrambles up the side of the bed clumsily, the spongy nature of the foam rectangle on top completely foreign to it. There are pillows lined against the headboard that look more comfortable than a blanket-less mattress, so the Survivor pulls one of them down flat and curls into a ball on top of it. The bed is comfortable, although the pillow moreso. A new tale to regale Moon with through painting pictures in the ground with rocks.
Another cycle goes on, undisturbed by others who seek to continue their own - or want to find a way out.