The group's accommodations in the bathhouse were less than comfortable, especially compared to the treehouse at Deep's End, or even the cart ride over here. An array of cushions were provided for sleeping on, but the fabric slid about on the glazed tile floor, making it difficult to keep them in one spot while using them. Simple blankets like they'd had before would have been far more versatile and effective. The room itself was miserably dreary, too. It was an interior room, so there were no windows. Oil lamps of some kind hung from the walls, casting a yellow, flickering glow across the white walls and brown floor. They could only hope that by the time they needed refilled, they would be able to leave.

Swift-Paw was kind enough to explain how one would use the various fixtures in the room, at least. What appeared to be a complex indoor plumbing was actually just one gravity-fed pipe, snaking beneath the floor to various points where it was accessible.

Where it entered the room, a hole in the floor exposed the water for drinking. Towards the middle of the room, a pair of sliding wooden panels could adjust the flow to fill and drain the basin Song currently resided in. It was meant for bathing, but right now it was the only thing suitable for keeping a large amphibian hydrated. After that, the pipe apparently doubled back and passed under a series of covered holes in a multitude of sizes along the far wall. These were for bodily waste, similar to human latrines. Not a stall or curtain in sight. None of the humans were comfortable with this arrangement, but they had no choice but to make do. It wasn't long until everyone just stopped looking in the direction of the latrines if anyone went over there.

This lack of privacy was by far the worst part for Quiet-Dream. The room was meant for communal bathing and hygiene, and it was clear that taking care of anything without anyone being able to see you was not a cultural priority. He managed to come up with something different for feeding the kits, at least. He'd pushed two of the cushions into a corner of the room, making a little nook behind them where he was able take care of things out of sight. It was the last thing he had planned on doing for the day, and he was just about ready to collapse and try to sleep. Of course, that meant that was exactly when he was approached by Swift-Paw.

"Apologies if I am being presumptuous, Quiet-Dream, but a symptom of your affliction is a lack of natural instincts, correct?" The Scribe looked over the trio of squirrels, clearly concerned.

"I lack knowledge and instinct related to most things squirrel-related, yeah," Quiet-Dream murmured, too exhausted to put up any sort of front.

"I see. When was the last time you groomed yourself, or your kits?"

"I..." He looked back at himself, and a mixture of disgust and shame came over him. He was in far worse shape than he had realized. His fur was frazzled and matted in spots, still covered in dust and grime from the road. The kits fared a little better, but were certainly in need of a good wash. "I bathed when I first arrived in Deep's End. Haven't exactly had the opportunity since then, these two have demanded most of my time and attention, and then we were traveling..." He looked past the raccoon at the large tail of Song sticking out of her cramped tub. "The bath is somewhat occupied right now, unfortunately."

"I do not mean bathing. Just normal, everyday grooming."

"You mean... Oh." The squirrel's stomach turned as he realized what Swift-Paw had in mind. "Oh no. No, no, no. I am not doing that!"

"...You haven't groomed yourself once since your affliction began, have you?"

"No, and I don't intend to. I'm not going to do that with my mouth."

"Why?" The raccoon tilted their head, unable to comprehend the problem.

"It's disgusting! It's unsanitary! It's uncivilized! It's..." Quiet-Dream trailed off, quickly realizing his hypocrisy. Whatever fight he had left in him vanished in an instant. "It's the only way to avoid being all of those things, isn't it?"

"I cannot imagine what manner of creature you remember being that basic hygiene would have been considered any of those, but I would like to help you." The raccoon gave a quick glance behind themselves to make sure no one else was nearby to hear. "Your companions clearly care deeply about you, but they do not seem to know how to take care of your physical needs any more than you do. If nothing is done, you will risk parasites, infections, sores, and other illnesses. Not to mention being overall unpleasant to be around."

"What are you proposing, then?"

"I could groom you, give you a proper example," the Scribe's chattering became rather quiet as they locked eyes with him. They were both nervous and extremely serious about this. "Please do not take this the wrong way. Mutual grooming is typically reserved for mates and your own young, at least among our respective species, but assisting the infirm is also acceptable. It is just painful to see someone so clearly struggling when I could help."

A wild soup of emotions swirled in the squirrel's mind. Disgust at the state of this body, disgust at the body itself, embarrassment for having failed at something so basic, unease with all of the animalistic aspects of grooming, even more unease about having someone do it to him, appreciation for Swift-Paw's concern, and guilt over having prompted them to do this in the first place. He thought about Ink-Talon and Maggie, both of whom he'd seen learning to straighten their feathers with their beaks, and how that seemed perfectly normal. This was no different, technically. But a mammalian mouth full of spit and teeth just provoked a far more visceral reaction.

"Okay, do it. I'll take whatever help I can get. If I can handle the kits, I can handle this." He left out how he could only barely handle the kits if he really, really tried not to think about it.

"Here, stand in front of me, facing away." Swift-Paw gestured to a spot, facing the center of the room. The squirrel could easily pick out Maggie pretending not to watch in his periphery, her concern clear as day. His outburst must have been rather loud, he hadn't been paying attention to how he'd even expressed it.

"Can we face the wall behind you?" Quiet-Dream asked in a low whimper. "I know it doesn't change anything, but being able to see the others while we do this is uncomfortable."

"Of course."

The squirrel planted his paws in front of the Scribe and closed his eyes, bracing himself. It started with the surprisingly gentle touch of their almost hand-like paws, combing through his fur to find the worst of the knots and mats.

"Relax your shoulders. You are going to injure yourself standing that tensed for too long." Swift-Paw was communicating entirely through their namesake now. Little taps and prods here and there made with all the intent needed to get the message across. One paw for ideas, the other for tone. It would have been fascinating if everything surrounding it didn't make Quiet-Dream want to claw his way out of his own skin.

"Okay..." He took as deep of breaths as his tiny lungs would allow, in through the mouth, out through the nose. It was the best thing he'd figured out to do to dampen his powerful sense of smell so he could focus on more familiar things to ground himself. It was only partially effective at best. Still, he'd managed some half-decent meditation during the cart trip. Surely he could- "EEK!" The feeling of the raccoon's teeth on his back completely shattered any semblance of focus he could have mustered, eliciting a cry of of fear and surprise. "Are the teeth really necessary?"

"To pull apart the mats in your fur? Yes. Am I hurting you?"

"No, just... Can we talk about something? Anything. I need something else to distract me while we do this."

"Anything?" Swift-Paw paused, unprepared for such an open prompt. "I have been curious about your memories." Another pause. "Sorry, I must stop referring to them as 'memories,' as if they are in doubt. Stream-Drifter... Song was mostly unconscious from its injuries until this morning, so the first full conversations I had with your kind were with the bat. Its insistence on having been something else was outlandish, and I had assumed it to be a fantasy born from the trauma of your condition. But then I spoke with Song, and then the rest of you. You all have this shared experience of being another species, the same species. If it were a false memory, then no two creatures who had never met could have imagined the exact same thing, and I have now met five of you." The statement was punctuated by another nibble at a knot of fur on Quiet-Dream's back, this one more careful to keep from startling him again.

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"I appreciate that," the squirrel murmured. "You are only the second person I've met to have reached that conclusion, and the first... Physician Mindful-Sight came off as more interested in me as a research subject than as a person. At least after they guaranteed that I was in good physical health. I don't resent anyone for it. If our situations were reversed, I would find this just as unbelievable. Sometimes, I still feel like this is all a bad dream. Like I will just wake up and return to my old life and this will all be forgotten."

"You are not alone in that sentiment," Swift-Paw said wistfully. "To return to my original point, I am curious about your world. What you were, where you were from. If it is not too forward, could you tell me about it?"

"I don't mind, I just need to figure out where to even begin." As he thought it through, the raccoon pulled apart another small mat and smoothed the fur out with their tongue. He could barely keep from cringing at the sensation, but at the same time some reflexive, unconscious part of him found it rather pleasant. He needed to get back to talking before the cognitive dissonance consumed his thoughts. "Humans are... bipedal mammals. Plantigrade. Mostly hairless, just a bit on our heads, which is why grooming this way is strange. Pretty tall, too. About five or six times your height if you were to rear up on your hind legs."

"Are you describing a species of furless kangaroo?" Swift-Paw asked without missing a beat, and the squirrel's composure nearly broke again from the absurdity of it all.

As the "lesson" continued, Quiet-Dream became more and more unnerved by the disconnect between his conscious mind and the sensations of his body, something he had managed to avoid since his argument with Seeker Silver-Tail on the first day back in Deep's End. Only, instead of his body's response to anger and aggression, the capability of lashing out like a cornered animal, this was something it was wired to find pleasurable, in much the same way that cold drink, a warm shower, or a hug from a close friend would be for his human body.

But his emotions didn't match the associated sensations. Swift-Paw was not a close friend, much less a romantic partner. They were merely a sympathetic stranger, and the intimacy of all of this made him uneasy. Of course, the raccoon was not ignorant of the connotations. Their explanation of why this was okay had come off more as justifying things to themselves than an earnest attempt to convince him to play along. But the issue was clearly one of expectations and appropriateness more than it was of personal comfort or feelings. They had merely needed to declare themselves to be acting in a caregiver role before proceeding, unaware of how strange it was to be treated this way.

For their part, though, their interest in humanity was a fantastic distraction, and also informative of some quirks of this world. Obviously, it was unreasonable for a given person to know of every species of animal that has ever existed, he sure as hell didn't, but an attempt to use simians like monkeys or apes as a point of reference for humans had revealed that they had never seen or heard of any them. Lesser primates like lemurs were as close as he could get, and by that point the comparison wasn't all that useful anymore.

Humans not existing was one thing. The idea that this might be some manner of post-post-apocalypse scenario had been rattling around in his head for some time now. But simians as a whole? That felt deliberate. Was there some upper limit on "natural intelligence" for a species to exist in this world? No, that couldn't be right. Ink-Talon was right there, and he was pretty sure that crows beat out at least some monkeys in more than a few measures. Raccoons like Swift-Paw were no slouches in that department either, as he recalled. Could it be proximity to humanity itself...?

"I would like you to take care of this last part yourself." A firm prodding from the Scribe brought him back to the present. Somehow, he'd managed to relax enough for his mind to wander.

"Which part?"

"Your face. Eyes and ears are sensitive and delicate, and a squirrel's even more so compared to my own kits when they were your size. It is a task best suited for your own paws, and one you will need to do often. so you should learn it now."

"I think I have an idea of how to do this. I've seen... feral animals do it a fair bit." He had almost used "real" as a descriptor instead of "feral." He wasn't an authentic animal, but thinking the same about anyone else would be ignorant at best. He needed to avoid crossing the line between viewing the inhabitants here as people and viewing them as human. "First I have to... lick my forepaws..." After staring at his paws for an uncomfortably long time, he just tried to do it without thinking, mimicking the little rodent movements he'd always found cute as an observer, but much less so as a participant. And... it was really easy. It only took a few passes to smooth out all the rough patches on his head and behind his ears. It wasn't intuitive, exactly, but he'd been so nervous about doing anything that he'd over-complicated the whole process in his head. "...There. How do I look?"

"A little malnourished, but much better cared for."

"Ouch. You really don't hold back, do you?"

"We are are trying to work on your self-maintenance habits. They are very important. Please be sure to eat your full share the next time food is delivered. And furthermore..."

"...There's more?"

"I am not an expert on rodents, but I've known enough of them to learn about their teeth. Have you been chewing on anything?"

"Don't worry, I haven't." Quiet-Dream was briefly proud of himself for doing at least one of these things right from the start, only to realize he had forgotten one of the most basic rodent facts of all time a few seconds later. "Oh. I need chew on things or else my incisors will eventually outgrow my mouth. Painfully." He ran his tongue along the teeth, trying to gauge how much they'd grown. He hadn't really paid attention enough to know, but even a few millimeters would be significant in a mouth as small as his. Now that it was on his mind, he couldn't stop noticing that his teeth did seem a little cramped. Whether they actually were or if he was just paranoid was impossible to know.

"We will request something suitable for your teeth the next time someone checks in, you will be fine. Now, I believe you have some kits of your own to attend to." As Swift-Paw walked away to speak with Ink-Talon about something, a realization dawned on the squirrel.

'Kits of my own...' Quiet-Dream mulled over the phrasing. They mentioned having had their own in the past. And with all of this fussing over me... It was painfully obvious at that point. Swift-Paw didn't justify herself to avoid romantic implications. She was trying to avoid coming off as maternal. And doing a rather poor job of it, all things considered.

His feelings on this were... rather mixed. He had been quite literally infantilized just now, but for extremely justifiable reasons. He was so lost in this body that walking him through the basics like a child was the correct move. Doubly so with him having the kits to take care of. Ink-Talon had really been helpful in easing the burden, but he just kept finding things like this that a bird just couldn't provide.

Really, he had no one to blame but himself. He had been doing an abysmal job of caring for himself, and yet he had been so arrogant as to claim responsibility for Forager Keen-Ear's kits in the face of clearly offered alternatives. He still believed that he was doing the right thing, but he would need to step things up if he wanted to avoid just making things worse. Ignorance and bodily discomfort weren't an excuse, and the only way that this would be sustainable would be by improving his self-care and leaning on everyone else for support.

"You two must think I'm a lousy replacement for your mother, huh?" Quiet-Dream chittered softly as he returned to the two kits, who were busying themselves climbing all over the cushions he'd set up for them earlier. Both of them immediately stopped what they were doing and turned to look. He hopped up next to the black-furred kit, wondering how best to go about applying the stuff the Scribe had shown him. "I really do want to do right by you both, I promise."

"We know." The black kit chirped, turning to look at him. The older squirrel froze as his brain skipped a few beats. "Thanks." It was a pure, sincere response. Simple, but with clear and coherent intent.

"You can Understand me?" Quiet-Dream asked, dumbfounded.

"Always could!"

"What about you?" He turned to the other kit, who was watching, but not participating.

"They Understand you, but not themselves." The black kit answered for them. "I've just started today."

Self-awareness. He was both astonished he hadn't put it together already and unable to believe it was that simple. It was being able to Understand in the first place is what made the creatures of this world sapient. After all, what is self-awareness if not being able to Understand your own consciousness? It was a guaranteed way to pass a mirror test.

"There's no rush." Quiet-Dream gently ruffled the fur on the gray one's head, something he'd found that the kits enjoyed. "They'll get there when they get there." Turning back to the black kit, he continued. "For now, though, I need to clean the two of you up. Could I try on you first? So you can tell me if I missed anything?" It occurred to him that he was really taking this in stride. That probably wouldn't last long.

"I'd like that." After a short pause, they placed one of their forepaws on his. "You're not lousy. Just sad. Not your fault."

"Oh God," Quiet-Dream squeaked, suddenly aware that he'd be sobbing if he were in his old body. "You're even reassuring people the same way I do..."