Bearclaw Valley you can't take that away from me

Attempting the quantity challenge. WC 1065.

After dragging the dead boar across the terrain it wasn't looking so good, and there were bloody depressions in the grass from where he'd taken his various breaks, further spoiling the view. Revui had gone from an awkward waddle (with the carcass between his legs) to a few different positions as he sought the best hold of the body, the most efficient use of his strength. He'd grappled with parts of the boar's face recently: his teeth having left score marks across its thick hide, primarily the flesh of its cheeks once he'd torn through the coarse hairs which layered across its body. In the moment he was dragging it face-first; using the hook of his teeth in to the bloodied snout of the creature, anchoring to its nostrils. The flesh there was weak and gave out soon enough, which led to a morbid mess of coagulated blood leaking from the dead thing's face. Revui paused long enough to clean the foul substance from his chin with a flick of his tongue, spat it in to the grass, and carried on.

He could continue for a few more feet, but Revui knew he wasn't anywhere near a cache by this point. There was more land to traverse and now that he'd overworked his body with this stupid plan, he was resistant to continue. It was a strenuous workout, and not necessary at all — anyone else would have gutted the thing where it fell and pocketed whatever remained after glutting themselves, and truthfully that had been Revui's first instinct. But he saw an opportunity to entertain himself while strengthening his body, so he'd taken it. Thus the man had spent the afternoon painting the valley red. It wasn't a waste of time, he kept telling himself - the food was still fresh.

That said, flies had begun to pester him in greater magnitude now that the day's humidity began to pick up. It was warm and stuffy beneath the trees, bright and hot without them. It was easy enough to dig a pit and make a fresh cache, he thought next. Revui sighed, kicking at the boar's bloody face as he left it sitting in the shade the aspen trees, and began to lazily peruse his immediate surroundings for a place to begin his work. The ground here was uneven; it was similar in composition to the meadow due south of the valley except for its various mounds and exposed chunks of stone, and was possibly used by groundhogs or other small creatures at some time. Grass choked the soil in yellowed patches. Some smaller bramble bushes grew in clusters along the tree line, and their roots wove intricate webs beneath the surface.

Revui investigated a few of these. He snapped at some, sniffed at others, but eventually gave up and turned to patrol in the opposite direction. Where the brambles thinned there was grass, grass, and more grass, most of which being dry and dead. It gave way beneath his heavy steps. After pacing through the grass to pulverize it, he began to scratch at the earth with his claws and even resorted to nudging aside clods of dirt as he broke them using his snout, much like the pigs he'd become so fascinated with. An hour later, he'd dug a shallow pit. It wasn't quite deep enough to use for a cache, so he kept on working at it - peering over the growing ledge at the porcine remnants nearby, as if the dead thing might roll back to its fat little legs and rise to life again.

The last thing Revui needed right now was a zombie pig - though it would liven things up around here.

He noticed nothing out of the ordinary, and ducked his head back down. Away he went, cutting in to the dirt and tearing at roots as they surfaced, using his teeth when he needed to, feeling the grit of dirt between his teeth and the slick terroir as it became mud against his tongue. Flavourless, for the most part. Chunks of dirt and dry grass flew from the pit as he worked at it, spraying the nearby trees from time to time. He got so involved with the task that he did not notice the burn in his shoulders any longer, nor the passage of time - at least not until the sun was directly overhead, unaffected by the trees trying to offer shade. The way the light slanted down at him was uncomfortable; Revui was panting more openly by then, and looked up from his half-dug pit to glare at the sky, eyes squinting.

Then, finally, he rose up and climbed from the trench. He scrambled a little bit, using his tail to counter-balance and then awkwardly scrambling with his hindquarters, but he pulled himself out and began inspecting his work. It was a little longer and wider than himself. Not exactly rectangular either, but it wouldn't really matter what shape came as a result of his digging. Bits of broken root systems terminated where he'd cut through them and framed the cache walls. Good enough. He drawls to himself, huffing, then shaking some of the dirt from his shoulders. The silver of his limbs is dark with mud.

Tired as he is, there is only so much time before the sun will over-ripen the boar's carcass. Bloat had already begun when he'd dragged it halfway, and now, as it had been sitting prone for at least an hour, the belly had swollen as if it were full of piglets. The smell was starting to get worse too, but it wasn't something Revui minded. He would have to cut in to the pig eventually and segment out the still-good pieces from the rest. With this in mind he moseyed over to where it sat, disturbing a fresh wave of flies, only to watch them settle again upon the pig's face, ears, and back.

The sound of wings in the air, then the sound of claws scrambling against wood, alerted him to the presence of a bird; no doubt hungry and lured in by the garish red line that'd been painted across the grass, now the raven roosted in the aspen trees and watched him. Revui glanced up at it, stared a moment, but was dismissive; perhaps he would offer the nastiest parts to the bird, he mused to himself.