Like most explorers’ outposts, Deep’s End was simple in construction. Most buildings in the village were temporary, erected with lightweight materials to suit the basic shelter and sleep needs of the currently planned occupants. The only permanent structures were the infirmary, the storehouse, and the foundations that temporary housing was built on: black-brick for surface structures, and woven grasses for arboreal lodging.

The population was small, mobile, and deliberately transient. Only about twenty or so residents could comfortably live there at any one time, all of them small-bodied. Larger creatures required more food, more living space, and more complex shelters. Because of this, however, all stationed personnel needed to be able-bodied. Simple injuries and brief illnesses could be compensated for, but the procedure for long-term disability was clear: Affected personnel were to be sent back to Darksoil for treatment and replacements would be dispatched as soon as word that they were needed was received.

Coordinator Gleaming-Scale had handled these procedures many times before. It was nothing new. Scholar Ink-Talon, Forager Keen-Ear, and their kits would be returning with the next supply caravan, and hopefully their minds could be repaired. What most concerned the black snake as it reviewed the incident report was the question of investigating further. Without knowing how any of this had happened, continuing outpost’s survey work or exploring the site of the incident would only put the creatures in its care at risk. It had made the decision to suspend all activity in the Border Forest until the Lead Scholars could review the available facts, but if the suspension continued indefinitely, then Deep's End and the years of work put into the research here would have to be abandoned.

To that end, Gleaming-Scale would have to interview the victims itself. The first stop would be the infirmary. Ink-Talon was still there, as evidenced by the one side of an argument that was audible from outside the entrance curtain.

“Are you sure I can’t just eat seeds? Maybe some grain? Crows eat grains, right?” The caws, croaks, and clicks were unmistakably Ink-Talon’s, but the manner of expression was entirely unlike it. Inefficient, improvised, inconsistent. Certainly what one would expect from someone with no established habits or patterns. Gleaming-Scale moved inside, finding what might have been a humorous scene out of context. Ink-Talon was nervously staring at a modest pile of dried beetles on the ground in front of it, while Physician Mindful-Sight placed a supportive foot on its wing to encourage it to eat.

“You could, if we were in a larger settlement with more access to agriculture. As it stands, most of our seeds, nuts, and grains are reserved for those who don’t have the physiology to eat anything else, so your rations of it are more limited. These are far more nutritious, regardless.”

“Okay. I suppose I don’t have the luxury of being particular.” Rather than interrupt, the Coordinator coiled up near the door and simply observed. Ink-Talon was far too distracted to notice its entrance, and Mindful-Sight knew better than to draw attention to it. What followed was the most bizarre behavioral display the Coordinator had ever seen. Ink-Talon slowly leaned forward, beak opened wide, and picked up a beetle with an unsure delicateness. It then repeatedly crushed it in its beak rather than swallow it, only to fumble and end up dropping the mangled carapace to the floor with a frustrated cry, expressing some manner of crude expletive the snake lacked precise context for.

“Are you… attempting to chew it?” The Physician had turned a deep mauve with sympathetic embarrassment. “You do not have teeth.”

“I’m supposed to just swallow it whole?”

“How else would you?”

“Okay…” The crow tensed up for a moment before closing its eyes and breathing deeply. After a long pause, it snapped up the remains of the insect and flipped it down its gullet in one smooth motion. One that gave an impression of practiced flair completely at odds with both the helpless bird who had been standing there a moment prior and the remarkably sloppy Ink-Talon that the Coordinator knew. Mindful-Sight visibly flinched at the skillful display, one eye darting to Gleaming-Scale as if begging it not to pay attention. “There. I just had to focus on the specifics.” It was then that Ink-Talon’s gaze finally landed on the large snake watching from the corner, and all of that confidence faded as quickly as it had appeared. “Oh!” Its feathers fluffed up reflexively as it took a defensive stance, betraying an almost Feral-like response to the presence of a potential predator. “…Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I hope I’m not keeping you from seeing the Physician.”

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“I am here to collect you, actually.” Gleaming-Scale uncoiled and approached, communicating by varying the position of its head and the pattern of its movement, very careful to keep its unease from being expressed in any way. “But please continue eating. Once you are finished, meet me outside. We can converse as I take you home.” The snake made a tight u-turn and returned outside, motioning for Mindful-Sight to follow with a flick of its tail. Once the two were outside, Gleaming-Scale coiled back up into an aggressive posture and glared at the chameleon. “Physician. What did you do?”

“I do not know what you mean,” The chameleon lied, gesturing dismissively as its scales took on a greenish tint, only one of its eyes looking back at the snake.

“We had an agreement. No more experiments.”

“I didn’t ‘experiment’ with anything,” Mindful-Sight hissed, finally locking both eyes with the Coordinator. “That would imply that I did not know exactly what was going to happen. I administrated life-saving treatment, fulfilling my mandate as Physician.”

“By inducing Attunement? Did you forget the reason why your previous research was deemed too dangerous to publish?” Gleaming-Scale slithered around the chameleon, enclosing it within a loose coil and threatening to pull in tight. “Did you even explain what you were doing so that it could consent?”

“If a creature is delirious and dying from an infected limb, you do not ask for consent before performing an amputation. You assume that it would prefer to live damaged than die painfully and act on that wish.” The Physician called the snake’s bluff and simply climbed out of its coils, knowing full well that it was not prepared to follow through. “Besides, this isn’t Ink-Talon. This is a creature who does not have even the slightest grasp on what narrowing its Understanding actually entails. I removed a capability that it did not even know it possessed, granting it a new one and saving its life in the process. It was the correct decision.”

Gleaming-Scale paused to think, unable to immediately come up with a counterargument. To Attune with something meant sacrificing broader Understanding for greater depth and precision in one’s Understanding of a single subject. A focus so intense it blocks out nuances of the world around you. Only the most long-lived of creatures had the time to undo such a switch, and committing to Attunement itself took significant effort and training, which prevented it from being undertaken lightly. The Physician’s own Attunement to the connections between mind and body provided a way to bypass that, and now Ink-Talon had to live with the consequences, should its mind ever be recovered.

Much of the world’s nuance would be lost to it. Knowing the weather from the wind and sky, making precise use of a tool by Understanding its weight and shape, feeling the emotion behind written markings, not just their meanings. Any level Understanding deeper than the surface. However, the Coordinator had read Mindful-Sight’s report thoroughly, and the Physician never exaggerated when it came to medical diagnosis. If the crow truly would have died had it not been made to Understand its own body, and if this was the only way to do it…

“Wow…” The tense silence was broken by an impressed click of the beak from Ink-Talon, who had just emerged from inside. “You really made all this yourselves?” it asked, gazing about at the various buildings surrounding the infirmary. “I don’t think I could have managed it even back when I was taller, stronger, and had opposable digits.”

“You can speak with the Builder sometime if you’re curious,” Mindful-Sight waved, deftly changing the subject. “Do not be afraid to return if you have any concerns, but I must take my leave. I leave the patient in your care, Coordinator, Farewell.” And with that, the chameleon wandered back inside, knowing that it had quite handily won their debate, at least for now.

“Coordinator?” The crow cocked its head. “Does that mean in you’re in charge here?”

“In a sense.” Gleaming-Scale uncoiled and began slithering away, beckoning Ink-Talon to follow. “You may call me Gleaming-Scale. I am going to take you home.”

“Right. ‘Home,’” Ink-Talon croaked with clear disdain for the idea. “Where is the squirrel staying? We’re in this together, and I don’t want to leave him alone if I don’t have to.”

“You were already living together, actually. You, Forager Keen-Ear, and Keen-Ear’s offspring.”

“Wait. What? Stop.” The crow halted in its tracks, forcing Gleaming scale to curl back around to look at it. “Keen-Ear’s offspring? The squirrel, my friend, the [Member Of My Species]’s offspring?”

“Yes,” the Coordinator answered, having decided that being blunt and up-front about this would be in everyone’s best interest. “We offered to find others to care for them, as Keen-Ear does not currently remember ever having them, but apparently it was extremely insistent that it continue to do so itself.”

“But how… Oh. Oh.” After a long, almost painful silence, Ink-Talon hissed out another unknown expletive and continued walking, somehow even more sullen. “I think I’m done with questions now. Let’s go.”

“...A reasonable choice. Follow me.”

Perhaps being blunt had not been the best idea.