As Elyusian was a coastal city, seabirds often made an appearance. While some kept to the cliffs that fell into the sea, others ended up flocking to the more populated streets and squares of the city in search of food scraps courtesy of messy eaters. Walnut had taken a liking to such birds.

Amused, Kester watched as he performed his distinctive hopping run ahead of her into the little plaza that held the fountain Bowen had introduced to them earlier, but for once it wasn’t the running water that claimed the river otter’s attention. Instead, that honor went to the flock of gulls that had landed on the ground just inside the wall that overlooked the ocean. Today, they fought over a scrap of food, too big for a single bird to lift, that had likely been spilled by a child and had not yet been cleaned up by a slave. Unlike the birds that Kester and Walnut were accustomed to interacting with, these seabirds did not hesitate to fly out of reach at the first sign of trouble, and Walnut found a rather concerning amount of joy in provoking such a reaction.

Circling around him such that she would not ruin his fun, the Dresmondi leaned back against the wall while her dyr terrorized the gulls. Out of habit, dark eyes glanced around the square, noting the people at the tables by the fountain, the people wandering into and out of the shops, and the handful of individuals scattered across the benches. One of them seemed to be drawing. Only after coming to Arynn Frey had Kester first picked up a pen and paper, but she had found to her surprise that she hadn’t been half bad at illustrating the images she saw in her mind. At any rate, she was better at that than she was at writing. With one last look around the square and a lazy attempt to try to figure out whether Bowen still had eyes on her even now, she turned her attention to the river otter running around in circles in front of her.

When the girl with the sketch pad started approaching Walnut, Kester tensed and pushed herself off the wall. She watched as the stranger crouched down near the river otter, who paused mid-stride and looked over at her curiously, one paw in the air.

Walnut, Kester cautioned him as he hopped closer to the girl.

“Kester,” He mimicked her as he stood on his hind legs and studied the Arynnite with a tilt of his head. “Not everyone’s a bad person. How are you supposed to make any friends if you won’t even give them a chance?”

Not everyone’s a good person either. And I don’t need any friends.

“Well, that’s a lie,” Walnut argued back, glancing away from his would-be friend to give his human a pointed look. “Kes, she likes me. Besides, she’s got a drawing of me, and it’s really good! You should come see!”

The quality of the drawing was the least of her worries. Distinctly uncomfortable with a stranger so close to her dyr, Kester had already started making her way over. She stopped beside Walnut, perhaps a tad closer than she would have otherwise, and looked down at the Arynnite with a polite smile that was likely countered by the distrust in her brow and crossed arms.

Walnut looked up at her and huffed. “Do you always have to be so unfriendly all the time?”

We don’t know her, Walnut.

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be friendly!” If he could have talked to the Arynnite, the river otter would have thrown his hands up in exasperation and started apologizing on his human’s behalf. “She’s not doing anything wrong! And she said I’m adorable! How many bad guys call me adorable?”

I don’t know, Walnut. As I recall, they were all too busy trying to kill you.

“Exactly!”

The girl seemed utterly unbothered by Kester’s less-than-friendly, silent stare. With a friendliness that rivaled Walnut’s, she introduced herself as Calanthe and held out the page that she tore out of her notebook. Uncrossing her arms, Kester took it and looked down at a masterful sketch of a river otter running gleefully after some gulls. She blinked and, after a moment, reconsidered the Arynnite.

“I told you it was good! Let me see again!”

Glancing down at him, Kester bent slightly and handed Walnut the piece of paper, which he grabbed eagerly with both hands. Head tilted, he examined the drawing and asked after a moment, “Is my nose really that big?”

The confirmation that Kester sent down her side of the bond was met with half-genuine, half-put upon shock. Rolling her eyes at Walnut’s antics, Kester turned her attention back to the girl and pointed at the notebook and pen the Arynnite still held before miming writing in the air.

“Aww, did you hear that?”

Hear what?

“She said her dad died.”

Lots of people’s dads have died, Walnut.

“Yeah, but she said her sketchbook is special but still ripped out this drawing to give to us!”

A wave of sympathy from his side of the bond had Kester looking down to see him watching Calanthe rather sadly. Why do you listen to everyone else better than you listen to me? Movement in the corner of her eye caused Kester to glance up to see the girl holding out a notebook and pen. With another polite smile, she took them and silently continued pointing out to Walnut, She didn’t even say her dad died, just that the notebook was a last gift. He could have left.

“Like that’s any better?”

It is. If he’s still alive, there’s always the chance of his return.

In the silence that followed, Kester opened the notebook to a fresh page. If there were other sketches or notes, she didn’t rudely pause to examine them, but she was also unable to stop herself from glancing curiously at whatever else was written there. Then it was her turn to crouch as she used her knee like a makeshift table to support the notebook while she wrote. After a slight pause, she decided to finish Calanthe’s sentence and painstakingly wrote ’Walnut’ before turning the notebook toward her and pointing to the otter. In case the introduction wasn’t clear, Walnut grinned at the Arynnite and waved. ‘And no.’ Which was a lie, but Calanthe had no reason to know what a dyr meant to a Dresmondi, and Kester didn’t want her to start asking questions about it either.

Having turned back to the notebook to draw a line under Walnut’s name and carefully write her own, Kester rolled her eyes at the page. She had only learned how to write some basic words after seeking refuge in Arynn Frey and discovering that her usual form of communication via dyr would not work with Arynnites, and her handwriting in both skill and legibility reflected that. Eventually, she flipped the notebook around to reveal ‘Kester’, with a gesture toward herself.

Another pause. Then, at Walnut’s bidding, she began writing again and offered up an olive branch of sorts: ‘Good drawing.’

Kester offered Calanthe a smile and a nod as the other woman responded to her compliment with the same friendliness that had Walnut already so fond of her. Both the Dresmondi and the river otter watched with heads tilted identically to the side as the Arynnite began gesturing with her hands, then looked to them expectantly. With an apologetic smile creeping onto her face, Kester glanced to the side where Walnut stood, still on his hind legs, equally mystified.

“Are we supposed to understand that, Kes?”

I think she’s trying to tell us something.

But what exactly, she had no idea. The concept of sign language was not a foreign one to either of them, but the gestures Kester used were a rudimentary language of her own design shared between her and those with whom she was closest. With their dyrs, Dresmond had no need for sign language, and indeed, Kester had stopped relying so heavily on hers after Walnut had entered her life. If Arynn Frey had a standardized sign language, then she didn’t know it.

Tentatively, she copied the signs that Calanthe had made, the lack of understanding and obvious curiosity as to its meaning evident on her face.

Calanthe’s invitation to teach Kester their sign language was met with excitement. Both she and the river otter were quick to nod their heads, though the latter accompanied his with eager applause, and for the first time, the Dresmondi’s smile as she looked up at the Arynnite was fully genuine. Though she spent most of her time among her own people, the prospect of easy communication after years of struggle felt— well, it felt too good to be true. The thought had her pausing for a moment, the smile faltering, and Kester picked up the pen and notepad that she had placed on the ground.

Painstakingly, she wrote out, ‘You don’t mind?’ Worry crept in. Calanthe had seemed nice enough so far, but surely she would expect something in return for the time and energy it would take to teach Kester a whole new language. What if Kester didn’t have anything suitable, or if learning Arynnite sign language was harder than she thought?

“Kes, don’t ask that.” Walnut had picked up on her thoughts.

It’s important to know.

“It’s rude. Not everyone has an ulterior motive. Just say ‘yes, please’ and ‘thank you’.”

Ignoring him, Kester wrote her follow-up questions. ‘Why offer? You don’t know me. What do you want in return?’

Kester watched Calanthe as she responded to her questions, trying to weigh the believability of her words against her desire for them to be true. The other woman didn’t mind, she just wanted to help, and she wanted to be friends. Could it truly be so simple? Compared to the Dresmondi refugees that now lived within their borders, Arynnites were a naive people who had never faced a life-threatening danger. Helping for the sake of helping and friendship for the sake of friendship sounded like Dresmond before Coheed, before the Eldouir, when all they’d known was peace, so perhaps Kester’s inability to fully believe in Calanthe’s selfless generosity was indicative of just how much had changed.

But she wanted to learn Arynnite sign language a lot.

If Kester was willing to risk the potential danger of becoming involved with Bowen’s little spy network for the good of her people, then surely no one could blame her for taking on this additional risk for her own edification. Bright and smiley, Calanthe didn’t seem any more threatening than the Minister of Internal affairs, but Kester knew from personal experience how much could be hidden behind upturned lips. It was a calculated risk. However, she had faith in hers and Walnut’s ability to defend themselves, and as with Bowen, she would be smart and careful to not shoulder undue risk.

After a long moment, Kester nodded. Then she turned back to the notepad and wrote: ‘Start when?’