Scent of History

Discipline.

They had eyes. They didn't use them. They navigated with their other senses. They could hear the moving parts of their surroundings. Smell the nonmoving. Feel the faintest movement when submerged in water. They could navigate the crew's ship without even a flicker of an attempt to open their eyes.

It took Dicipline.

Awan was a whole new invironment. Loud - It was hard to make out individual noises nearby. Strong Smelling too, with all the creatures moving around in the ruins. And yet, here they were, sifting through items, eyes closed. They found something interesting. Smooth and cold. Oddly shaped, with a handle. Smelled of dust, dish soap, and with the faintest hint of hot chocolate, a clear implication of what it had held before being washed for the last time. Personal item. Likely a mug of some sort. They put it in the basket and moved onwards, ears flicking. More items were added.

Then they entered another room in the building. It smelled more strongly of dust then the other rooms. They sneezed as they stepped on something soft. A rug? It held many small items. Rubble, they assumed. They kept walking, using their forepaws to feel out for some place to step before doing so, until they felt something larger then the other small objects. That wasn't a rock. It wasn't rubble. Plastic? Here? They picked it up, checking it over. A toy. A small, plastic figurine of a bird, if they had to guess. They were likely surrounded by a landmine of such objects, likely left behind by a pup, though they didn't wish to think of why the room smelled more like dust then the other rooms. So they started sifting. Items that couldn't be verified were left in a pile so they didn't stumble or check them again. Toys were put in the basket. Plushies, plastic figurines, something much too smooth to be rubble (perhaps a marble? They weren't sure). And then it was time to change baskets. They'd filled theirs. So they navigated, following their own path in to the exit, then turned in the basket, got a new one, and returned.

They could trust the Cirrocanius to find the family these toys belonged to, if they were still around.

Once back in the room, there were more toys. But… As they delved closer to where they assumed the bed was, they started to notice a faint undertone to the scent of the room. Illness. Potentially from the radiation, though the clayfoxes had thankfully been able to clear it from the area since the evacuation.

Spark drooped slightly. This room told a story, and not a happy one. But they couldn't smell death so far. It was when they reached the bed that they realized they could smell a faint trace of a familiar scent, one that wouldn't belong if the holder wasn't a Cirrocanius herself. Swirl? It was faint, an old scent for sure, but there, just barely. That scent trail itself was laced with illness, though it wasn't the same sick-scent Spark had been smelling. They wondered, but did not falter past the initial discovery. More toys were rounded up until they could find no more, and then they moved on.

That too, took Dicipline.

Multiple baskets were traded for this building. Multiple sweeps were done. Once personal items were cleared, they started gathering what could be used but wasn't intact. Wires, bits of metal, glass, and plastic that were not salvageable as personal items but could be used in other ways. They stripped everything that could be recycled from the building. All without opening their eyes. It wasn't easy like the ship was now. It was harder then navigating the noiser areas of the port. But they kept to it anyway.

That was just what they did.

It was Dicipline. But the Dicipline wasn't in navigating. It was in not opening their eyes no matter how hard navigating was without vision. It was in keeping going when they wanted to cry for the story the rooms told. They could open their eyes, but then they would break their vow. So they didn't.

They had no plans to break their vows, after all.