Foredated to April. 13. Sorry for the length, I had no idea I liked describing old ruined places so much.
The orange coyote was traveling among the ruins of Halifax. Her bow was carried in one hand for protection, and her quiver was on her back. Still-healing scars marred her shoulder and hip, covered in cloth and dried blood. They stung, of course, but Alma wouldn't let that get in the way of her duty; the clan needed more supplies, if these wolf attacks were to continue. Besides, she needed to learn to ignore pain if she was ever to become a good warrior.
Her eyes scanned the ruins and wreckage, finding very little of use. She would probably have to go inside one of those buildings to find something useful, but she was hesitant to do so. Unlike her clan's buildings, these were unlikely to be maintained and there was a greater risk that one might fall on her head while she was inside. Still, she knew what she had to do, and decided she'd pick one that was made of a strong, sturdy substance like brick or stone.
Alma took a deep breath, and walked through the threshold of a building with an open door. Inside, the bits and pieces of the ceiling had fallen in, though the walls were fortunately still intact. Rotting furniture decorated the inside. The first room held the faint scent of others, as if it'd been picked over before. The coyote stepped carefully to avoid the debris on the floor, and wandered into the next room.
A refrigerator had fallen to the floor, though Alma wouldn't have recognized it as such unless someone told her. A particular smell came from it, and mold grew on the edges of its doors. She wrinkled her nose, and tiptoed past it. There was a stove and an oven, but neither did Alma recognize what those were, either. They just looked like masses of rusty steel. She had to wonder what they were used for, although she knew she would probably never find out.
The wood cabinets were littered with holes from termites and bugs. The hinges had rusted off, and so there were no doors blocking her view of the inside. Alma crouched down beside them, and found herself staring at nothing at all. There were a few rusted scraps of metal inside, but nothing else. If there was ever anything inside, someone else had gotten to it before her. Frustrated, she stood up and went through each and every drawer in the room. Nothing but rust, and bits and piece of things that she had no use for.
She went through the closets and the first bedroom in fairly short order; what was there was rotted, and of little use to her. In the last room, the ceiling had fallen in over the bed and a mass of debris obscured what was underneath. Everything else in the room - the closet, the nightstand - had been picked over, but Alma suspected that if there was anything of worth in this house, it'd be buried underneath that pile. The coyote set her bow aside, and began the long, arduous task of digging through the rubble.
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