he thinks that the weather is not kind to him for giving him the grace of coldness in sweltering hot desert. although the camp itself is not made of shadeless territory with the power of burning degrees radianting above them for kilometers on end, somehow, he still manages to get sick. perhaps, he has been out too many times into the land beyond the homely camp from greeting strangers becoming as joiners and exploring the unknown. he thinks that must be how he got the dreadful feeling, the bouts of coughing here and there, and awful running nose. it is not a bad one, though, simply a minor cold. but it is quite a nuisance. running around wing wings folded to keep maximum warmth underneath those angelic wings could only do so much.
sniffling the sadness of a horrible creature he is for even getting sick in the first place and suffering, the caracal searches high and low through the empty and unused huts, looking for just something that could keep him warm that he could wear. the first hut proves to be filled with just old time furniture, dust collecting on top of wooden tables and broken chairs. nothing he knows how to repair of, unfortunately. the next hut is filled of some food, some spoiled rotten, some on the borderline, a very selective few in alright condition. the ones that are safe to eat seems eaten, showing signs that someone comes here to put their food, but forgotten to eat some. not something he is interested, however, and onward he goes. the third hut is nothing but emptiness. a sigh escapes his maw. "always bad luck," he speaks sadly of this about himself. everything always seems to go wrong or never end well with him. just unfortunate. how did others even deal with him? surely, they would not want a pathetic sick creature just wandering aimlessly unable to be of help around the guild or something. a shake of his head as he decides to just go one more hut before giving up on the fruitless search.
the last hut is smaller of the other three huts and once he steps inside, it feels warm and homely, despite no signs of life here for quite some time. it is a bit darker than the others, barley letting in the beating sun into the small room. letting his eyes adjust to the slightly dark place, his head turns to survey the room. it is quite a chaotic mess in a sense, with blankets littering the floor. many are torn, battered, some even to tiny pieces. few pillows are scattered, also ripped. he could almost thinks that some kind of beast lived here, but the trace of it is very long gone. quivering slightly at the sight of the mess, he steps carefully inside, taking care to only touch the open ground free of objects. even the ground itself seems scarred, suffering in pain and agony from the ruthless creature that lived here. nothing is spared here, all shredded, broken, damaged beyond repair. "mew?" he says out loud, a hint of confusion and fright in his voice as he steps around a broken piece of some kind of glass. leaving seems a perfect idea to do so right now.
a sneeze explodes from the tiny nose, scaring him to the sky and back. the sound of his sneezing seems to echo slightly in this room. "awful," he mutters after he barley manages to calm himself down from the short scare. turning around, he carefully makes his way back to the door, taking a glance over his shoulder. and then something catches his eyes. it is a pile of fabric siting a little to the darker side of the room, nonetheless, still noticed by the arbor. curious, he makes his way forth toward the pile of fabric, putting a paw to it and lifting it up to see it better. it is in perfect condition, no signs of wear or tear. a cloak of some sort, he thinks. he lifts the other two fabric. pastel green and pastel blue colours along with a soft, faded red scarf. all in good conditions. "warm." he nods in agreement to his statement spoke out loud and puts them on. the smaller green cloak covers the top part of his head like a beanie hat, if he even knew what it was. the other bigger pastel blue fabric wraps around his body like a normal cloak. the red scarf is then added over the blue cloak. "nice."
satisfied with the discovery of these cloths, he then once again retreats back to the sunlight, away from the dark and mysterious hut. the place now forgotten and thrown in the back of his mind, he murmurs to himself in joy of these nice thick fabric. a sudden sneeze is sounded, scaring him for a second, jumping off the ground. "gracious, i hate myself," he grumbles out loud as his heartbeat returns to normal. he thinks he would just die of heart attack any second some day.