Eli stood in the cold of the early dawn as his pack worked swiftly to dismantle their yurt. The cold wind whipped through his heavy coat - it'd been steadily picking up over the final days of their preparation. Even now, he had little idea how they planned to transport the dozen-odd pots, the even greater number of bags, and—most baffling of all—their entire home. Even disassembled, the yurt's sheer size and bulk seemed unwieldy, and the pots were cumbersome, their awkward shapes making it impossible to carry more than one at a time. His pack had tried explaining, mentioning a sled and possibly a beast of burden, but the details eluded him. In the end, they had simply asked him to trust them.

  He absently ran his thumb along the rapidly dulling edge of the flint knife he'd been instructed to make — a tool for his own use, though Oreo had neglected to explain that until after it was finished. With little else left to do but wait, Eli let himself marvel at the simplicity of the yurt's construction. Four wooden logs formed the main supports, while smaller, shorter bone struts gave it shape. The central beams curved inward, hooking into a ring at the top that served as a smoke vent, and the rest of the yurt was nothing more than stretched and wrapped taut leathers. Deceptively simple, yet it had provided them with shelter, warmth, and safety. Its unassuming nature belied its importance.

  The four raptors worked with startling precision, seemingly instinctively knowing where to push, pull, and brace as they stripped away leather and cloth, separating wood from bone with effortless coordination.

  As he stood, letting his mind wander, he noticed one of the posts wobbling where Folly and Oreo were working to unearth it. He stepped forward, ready to steady it before it could topple onto them — only to realize rescue wasn't needed. Suda and Tia were already airborne, their powerful talons gripping the top of the massive support beam as their wings beat against the wind. They didn't try to stop it from falling entirely; instead, they merely controlled its descent, guiding it gently to the ground.

  Eli stepped forward, intending to steady the falling post and carry it off for them with his unnatural strength. His hands gripped the thick wooden beam with ease — perhaps too much ease. In the lower gravity, his strength was deceptive, a fact he hadn't fully accounted for. Not only that, he also failed to notice the taut leathers still partially lashed to the post, hidden beneath folds and shadows.

  With one determined pull, he wrenched the beam upright — and the sound that followed made his heart lurch. A sharp, sickening rrrip tore through the air, louder than the wind whistling around them. Eli froze, his breath catching as he looked up to see a massive gash carved into one of the large furs that had served as part of the yurt's outer wall. The thick leather dangled now, flapping violently in the wind like a tattered banner.

  Everything stopped.

  The raptors snapped to attention. Suda was the first to move, swiftly darting in to pull the remaining materials apart, separating the torn fur from the tension that might have worsened the damage. The ragged strip billowed freely now, still attached to the beam Eli was holding, fluttering like a flag announcing his reckless assumption.

  Folly approached silently, his eyes narrowed, tail lashing. He didn't speak, but his quiet disapproval weighed heavier on Eli than any reprimand could have. Oreo fussed over the torn fabric, talons delicately tracing the jagged edges, his brow furrowed with worry. Tia simply sighed, her silence different from Folly's — less judgmental, more resigned.

  Suda finally straightened, inspecting the damage with a critical eye. After a tense pause, she gave a short, firm nod. "Not bad," she declared. Her tone was even, but there was no mistaking the expectation beneath it. She glanced at Eli, her piercing gaze leaving no room for argument. "Yours. Make good."

  Eli swallowed hard, nodding without protest. It was the least he could do.

  He sat cross-legged on the hard permafrost, torn fur sprawled out before him with its jagged edges a mocking testament to his blunder. The coarse thread felt stiff between his fingers, and the bone needle — well-oiled and crafted with far more care than he felt he currently deserved — glinted dully in the wan light.

  He sewed in silence, his brow furrowed with concentration.

  His mind churned with frustration, not just at the mistake but at himself — his impatience, his assumptions, his inability to read the situation as fluidly as the others. He replayed Suda's demonstration over and over in his head: the precise way she'd guided the needle through the hide all those days ago, her talons deft despite their rigidity, her movements fluid and economical. Eli mimicked her as best he could, careful not to pull the thread too tight or leave gaps. He was determined, if nothing else, not to make things worse.

  Time blurred until the sound of soft footsteps broke through his haze. He didn't need to look up to know it was Oreo - his gait was lighter, almost fussy, quick but without the purposeful weight that Suda carried. He crouched beside him, feathers rustling softly as he observed his work.

  Eli expected criticism, maybe even a scolding gesture, but instead, Oreo tilted his head, clicking his tongue softly — a sound Eli had to remind himself likely meant something different to them than it did to him. Oreo reached out, not to correct his stitching, but to gently tap the center of the fur with the tip of his claw. Then he tapped his chest, just over his heart, and made a small circular motion in the air. "Eli going... Good!", he said, seemingly struggling to keep his words simple enough for Eli to understand.

  It wasn't much, but it was enough. A simple reassurance: You're doing it. Keep going.

  The knot in his chest loosened slightly. He managed a faint smile, nodding once before turning back to his task with renewed focus.

  As Eli worked to mend the damage, the rest of the pack continued dismantling what remained of the yurt. Their work filled the air with quiet determination, stripping each fur and leather tarp from the wooden frame. Oddly, instead of rolling the materials up or stacking them with the other provisions, they laid them aside in neat, deliberate piles — as if preparing for something else entirely.

  Once they'd safely lowered all four supports and excavated the remaining smaller structural components, Suda approached Eli once again. He sheepishly presented the mended fur to her for inspection, and after giving it a quick once-over her intent frown turned into a gentle smile of pride. She nodded, and simply said, "Good". Though a knot still lingered in his stomach, he managed a smile in return, nodding back.

  Before he could find the words to offer an apology — stumbling through the few he'd learned so far — Folly padded over, drawing his attention with a sharp trill. The raptor pointed toward the wooden supports, the leftover coils of plant fiber rope, and the large leather tarps gathered a few meters away, set apart from the neatly packed provisions.

  "Trunu!" Folly chirped as he gripped Eli's arm to drag him over to the pile of materials. Eli first looked over at the collection, and then to his red-feathered friend as he called forth what he'd learned so far. "Tru... to make. Or build, maybe," he recalled.

  "Let's build?" he asked in his own language, then winced, shaking his head. No, wrong. Use their words.

  Folly nodded as Eli repeated himself in the correct language. Then, with a sly glint in his eyes and a toothy grin curling at the corners of his mouth, he added, "Build. Not break."

  Eli didn't need to understand the nuances of their language to understand Folly's intent to tease. Somehow, though, the act left him reassured. There was no malice in Folly's jab — just the familiar bite of friendly banter. He mused quietly as he recognized that Folly never teased the others for serious mistakes, and rarely joked when things truly mattered. His ribbing was a sign of comfort, even acceptance. "We're okay", it seemed to say.

  Eli's grin widened at the realization, which only made Folly scowl in exaggerated offense, his crest feathers fluffing slightly in mock indignation at his failed attempt to fluster. The act was so performative, so transparent, that Eli couldn’t help but laugh outright.

  But just as quickly, his playful demeanor shifted. He turned back to the pile, straightening his posture. "Let’s build!" he declared, tapping a claw against one of the wooden supports for emphasis.

  Eli nodded, stepping closer. His mind scrambled for the right phrasing, remembering the subtle, unfamiliar tongue shapes that turned statements into questions. "Build? What… shape?" he managed, the words clumsy and jagged in his mouth. Even as he spoke, a small frustration nipped at him. "I should know more by now", he thought bitterly. "I should sound better than this." Logically, he knew he'd only had a short time to absorb an entirely alien language, but logic didn't soften the sting of feeling like a child fumbling through broken speech.

  Still, Folly didn’t seem to mind. The raptor’s sharp eyes flicked toward Eli, not with impatience, but with something closer to approval — a quiet indication that the effort mattered more than the perfection.

  "Shape! This-Shape!" he replied, voice rising with excitement.

  Without hesitation, Folly dropped into a quick squat, knees bent sharply as his claws scraped through the cold, packed earth. Eli stepped closer, instinctively leaning in to watch. This had become routine — when words failed, the raptors turned to pictograms, etching into dirt or dust to bridge the gaps language couldn't yet span.

  Folly's claws quickly scratched out a pair of boxy images. At first, the shapes seemed abstract, but as Folly added lines — parallel runners, a flat base, and an angled front — Eli's eyes lit up with recognition. He was describing the sled they’d tried to explain before! One drawing showed a top - down view; the other, from the side.

  "Nnnnathasathe!" Folly announced, his voice rolling through the harsh, guttural syllables slowly, as if to demonstrate. The word was unlike most Eli had heard so far, its sharp edges and drawn - out middle sound standing out. It must mean sled — or something close to it.

  "Let's build... sled. Sled?" he replied, only remembering to add the questioning inflection the second time.

  Folly jabbed a claw toward the neatly stacked pile of dismantled yurt parts. Eli's brow furrowed. They were going to turn the yurt into a sled? It was intriguing, but puzzling. The yurt materials seemed too bulky, too heavy for something meant to glide.

  Folly noticed his hesitation and gave a huff before popping back to his feet in one fluid motion. His eyes gleamed with impatience mixed with amusement.

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  "Follow!" he barked, a word Eli had come to understand carried layered meaning: watch and learn, pay attention, keep up.

  Eli straightened, squaring his shoulders with a quiet breath, and resolved to watch closely.

  With a grunt of effort, Folly rolled two of the large wooden supports into place. He held the first in place, gesturing for Eli to do the same with another. Eli stepped in, gripping the second support. Even with the planet's low gravity easing the load, the log's awkward size made maneuvering it a challenge. Still, he managed, his muscles straining slightly as he hoisted it into position. The other three raptors swooped in to help soon after — Suda securing the base with taut loops of plant fiber rope, Oreo weaving smaller struts between the larger beams, and Tia anchoring layers of leather and fur over everything.

  Together, they layered more of the dismantled yurt atop the frame; rigid bone struts crisscrossed between thick furs and stretched leathers, all cinched tightly to form a broad, sturdy platform. The structure was crude, held together with knots, tension, and clever design rather than polish, but he couldn't deny that it would work. Slowly, what had once made up their warm, cozy yurt transformed into a wide, low-slung sled with four hefty runners curving slightly at the front.

  Folly stepped back, wings flared in triumph, and slapped a clawed hand against the newly constructed frame. "Sled!" he announced proudly, the word sharp and declarative, as if he'd invented the concept himself.

  Eli took a step back to admire their handiwork. The sled was massive — far larger than he'd expected, its design simple and rugged. Low center of gravity, wide runners, he noted silently. Back home, it might have struggled under its own weight, but here, in the crisp thin air and light gravity, it seemed perfectly suited to glide over snow and ice with ease.

  Still, one question nagged at him: What was going to pull this thing?

  His answer came before he could voice the thought. Folly snatched up one of the thick ropes, looped it over his shoulder, and with a grunt, began hauling the sled toward the pile of supplies nearby. The contraption slid with surprising ease, skimming the snowy ground like it weighed next to nothing.

  "They haul it on their own?" Eli muttered, brow furrowed as he watched Folly’s compact frame dig in with powerful strides. Despite the planet’s forgiving gravity, it still seemed like an enormous strain for creatures of their size. "Maybe they're just that efficient", he reasoned, though he couldn't help but imagine how exhausting it must be over long distances.

  "Guess I'll be helping too", he thought wryly.

  Shaking off his musings, Eli hurried after them before anyone had to call him over. There would be plenty of time to wonder about the logistics later — right now, the sun was already climbing high, and they'd need to move fast if they wanted to make real progress today.

  With everyone working together, they made excellent progress loading the sled. The careful sealing and tying they'd done in preparation paid off, and within the better part of an hour, everything was secured — bundles of supplies lashed tightly, pots tucked snugly between layers of furs, and ropes crisscrossing the load like a web.

  Their departure was quiet, marked by little fanfare. Suda and Oreo took the first shift pulling the sled, while the others walked alongside, their breath misting in the crisp air. The sled glided smoothly over the snow, its weight dispersed across the wide runners. Every hour or so, they paused to rest, drink from water skins, and rotate who pulled, keeping a steady rhythm as they crossed the endless expanse of tundra.

  Eli insisted on taking the reins more often than the others. Even fully loaded, the sled was manageable for him — easier, in fact, than he expected. His height gave him a natural advantage, letting him lean into the harness at an optimal angle, and the planet's low gravity turned what would've been grueling labor back home into something closer to a strenuous workout.

  The hard labor didn't deter Suda from finding ways to keep Eli's mind engaged, though. Even as she pulled alongside him, she quizzed him relentlessly on vocabulary. She'd point to distant shapes, gesture at passing clouds, tap objects in their path — all prompts for Eli to recall the correct words.

  "And this?" she'd ask, flicking a claw upward.

  "Ah... Eethah. Sky." Eli replied, breathless but determined.

  "Good. Now — colors?"

  The drill was intense, but Eli found himself oddly grateful for it. The featureless white sprawl of snow and ice stretched endlessly in every direction, and without the mental stimulation, the monotony might've been unbearable.

  After what felt like the twelfth round of back-and-forth quizzing, Oreo — trailing slightly ahead — let out a dramatic sigh.

  "Booooooored~," he groaned, drawing the word out like it physically pained him to say it.

  Eli bit back a laugh. Fun and boring were the first words Oreo had ever taught him, both deceptively similar, distinguished only by a subtle shift in inflection. They also seemed to be Oreo's favorite words, judging by how often he used them.

  Suda's feathers ruffled slightly, a flicker of irritation flashing in her eyes. She opened her mouth to continue the lesson—

  "Boooooooooored!" Oreo interrupted again, louder this time, throwing his arms dramatically into the air like the very act of walking was some kind of existential punishment.

  Eli caught the tight line of Suda's frown deepening, her feathers bristling slightly at Oreo's relentless interruptions. Just beside her, Tia leaned in, whispering something softly to the restless raptor, though it seemed to do little good. Oreo's bright eyes gleamed with unspent energy, and he was clearly more interested in stirring things up than settling down.

  Before Suda's irritation could boil over, Folly spoke up from the front of the sled.

  "Eli. Folly pulls."

  It wasn't time to switch yet, but the pointed look Folly shot him carried more weight than the words themselves. His eyes, usually sharp with mischief, now held a quiet plea. “Help me smooth this over”, they seemed to say.

  He gave a slight nod and slipped out of the harness, trading places with Folly without another word. As Folly leaned into the ropes, he angled his head just enough to murmur something low to Suda, their voices blending into the crunch of snow beneath their feet.

  Eli drifted a few meters away, toward where Tia stood half-heartedly trying to corral Oreo. The smaller raptor perked up at his approach, her posture stiffening slightly, a curious mix of caution and interest flickering across her face. Oreo, meanwhile, looked up at Eli with a playful scowl somewhere between defiance and curiosity.

  "How..." He rolled the word slowly off his tongue, shaping the sounds deliberately. Then, after a breath, he added, "How to fun?"

  The phrasing made him cringe. It felt clunky, broken — but where Eli expected confusion or laughter, his friend’s face lit up like someone had flipped a switch.

  Oreo's entire demeanor shifted. His eyes sparkled, his vibrant, sky-blue feathers puffing slightly with excitement. Without hesitation, he bounded toward the sled, his long strides kicking up little sprays of snow. As he reached the pile of supplies, he skidded to a stop — just short of earning another glare from Suda — then carefully rifled through one of the sacks.

  With a triumphant chirp, Oreo produced a leather-bound ball roughly the size of Eli's head. He held it up like a prize, his grin wide and toothy.

  With a loud, excited trill, he flung the ball into the air and flared his wings dramatically for balance. Then, with a swift, exaggerated flap, he spun on his heel and kicked the ball straight toward Eli.

  Eli barely had time to react. His instincts scrambled to catch up, and he hastily stuck out his foot, managing to intercept the ball just enough to send it bouncing awkwardly upward. The light gravity turned what would've been a quick rebound into a slow, lazy arc, the ball floating like it had second thoughts about falling at all. Eli caught the ball as it reached him, and Oreo grinned eagerly, before darting forward to take the ball back.

  The little blur of blue leapt lightly into the air, tapping the ball upward with the curve of his snout, then again with the flat of his foot, keeping it aloft with effortless control. On each hit, he chirped out a word.

  "Zun!"

  A snout tap.

  "Tun!"

  A kick.

  "Kun!"

  A wing flick to nudge it sideways.

  Eli's eyes followed the ball, trying to track both the movement and the sounds. Tia jumped to intercept it as it arced through the air, catching it and starting to dribble it in midair.

  After a moment's observation, Eli decided the game itself seemed simple enough — keep the ball from hitting the ground while walking, count each hit aloud, and pass it between players. But the words Oreo chanted weren't just numbers in any way Eli recognized. There was a rhythm to them, almost like a song layered over the game.

  "Zun," Oreo began anew as Tia kicked the ball back to him. "Tun," he added, tapping it again. Eli listened closely, already dissecting the sequence. Zun, tun, kun, nun. The pattern repeated, each word distinct but following a clear structure. It wasn't decimal like he was used to — it felt more segmented, almost... base four? But something about the way Oreo said the numbers hinted at a larger system.

  Oreo returned the ball to Tia, who began dribbling it in the air once again. "Nun," she chimed, her voice melodic. Eli's fingers twitched as he mentally cataloged the sounds. Zun, tun, kun, nun. Then Oreo started again: "Zin, tin, kin, nin." The pattern shifted, but the structure remained — four syllables, each starting with a different consonant: z, t, k, n. Eli's mind raced. "It's not base four", he muttered to himself under his breath. Why did it feel like there was a pattern he was missing?

  The ball came to him again, and Eli hesitated only a moment before kicking it into the air and back to Oreo. "Zin," he said, his voice tentative. They didn't correct him, and a spark of confidence flared in his chest. He'd gotten the pattern correct, but it was just a guess.

  As the game continued, Eli's internal monologue buzzed with calculations. If it's base four, then after 'nin' comes... what? He waited, watching Oreo closely. The raptor kicked the ball to Tia again, and this time, instead of restarting at "zun," he said, "Zon."

  Eli's eyes widened. Zon. The consonant was the same as "zun," but the vowel had shifted. Zun, zin, zon... He kicked the ball back to Oreo, his mind racing. "Ton," he said, testing the next number in the sequence. Oreo chirped in approval, and Eli felt a surge of pride. So it wasn't just base four — it was base sixteen. Every four numbers, the vowel changes. Zun, tun, kun, nun... zin, tin, kin, nin... zon, ton, kon, non... and then what?

  The ball floated back to Tia, who caught it effortlessly. "Kon," she said, her voice soft but clear. Eli watched her, his mind still racing. "This isn't just a game", he thought. "It's a lesson." They were teaching him their system, their way of counting. The realization warmed him, and he kicked the ball back to Oreo with renewed energy. "Non!" he said, the word feeling more natural this time.

  Oreo's eyes sparkled as he caught the ball. "Zan!" he said with characteristic, bubbly enthusiasm, kicking it high into the air. Eli's breath caught. Zan. The vowel had shifted again. Zun, zin, zon, zan. The pattern was clear now — every four numbers, the vowel cycled through u, i, o, a. It's base sixteen, Eli realized. Four sets of four, with the vowels marking each group.

  The ball came to him again, and Eli kicked it back with confidence. "Tan," he said, his voice steady. Oreo and Tia both chirped in approval, and he even caught a little chuckle from Suda, who seemed to have come to realize Oreo's intention behind starting this game.

  By the time they reached "nan," the count had climbed to fifteen, and Eli was fully immersed in the rhythm of the game. The numbers rolled off his tongue with increasing confidence, each one not just spoken but sung alongside the others.

  Then Oreo kicked the ball to Tia one last time. "Zun," he cheered. Eli's heart thrilled. Zun again. The count had looped back to zero. "It is base sixteen!" he thought, a smile tugging at his lips. He felt a flicker of pride as he realized he was starting to understand their language, their way of thinking. The numbers, the patterns, the rhythm—it all made sense now. Hexadecimal, cycling through vowels every four numbers. It was elegant, and he couldn't help but admire how it formed a rhythm all on its own.

  Oreo bounded over to retrieve the ball, his feathers fluffed with excitement. "Again?" he chirped, his tail swishing eagerly. Eli was about to agree when a sharp whistle cut through the air. He turned to see Suda standing a few meters away, her ears twitching as she stared intently at the horizon.

  Eli followed her gaze, his heart skipping a beat as he recognized the faint outline of his crashed escape pod in the distance. The sight sent a jolt of mixed emotions through him — relief, sadness, and a lingering unease. He hadn't thought about the pod in days, too focused on survival and adapting to his new life. But now, seeing it again, the memories came flooding back: the fire, the screams, the desperate scramble to escape.

  As the group warily regarded the crash site, Eli felt a knot tighten in his chest. The sight of the charred husk of an escape pod brought back a flood of memories — smoke, fire, the screams of his crewmates. He clenched his fists, trying to steady himself, but the weight of the past pressed down on him like a physical force.

  Suda's voice broke the silence, her tone cautious. "What... that?" she asked, pointing toward the pod. Her ears were flattened against her head, a sign of unease that Eli had come to recognize.

  Eli hesitated, searching for the right words. His vocabulary was still limited, but he needed to explain. "Sled... sky-sled. Mine."

  No end of chapter sketch today, sorry! Work smacked me hard upside the chin and I never managed to squeeze the time in. See you next week!