Seven days, twenty hours, fifty-seven minutes, twelve seconds spent as a bat. Thirteen seconds. Fourteen seconds.

One hundred and seventy-six awkward, imbalanced steps taken down the too-large hallways of the College towards their new "home." One hundred and seventy-seven. One hundred and seventy-eight.

They had tripped over these stupid, clumsy wings eight times on this walk already. Nine times.

Stop it, stop it, stop it! Think about literally anything else, idiot! It felt like if they didn't occupy their thoughts with something at any given moment, it was back to the numbers. Literally anything could be counted or added or multiplied or otherwise calculated if you tried, and it was far, far too easy for them to try. Effortless to the point of being automatic. They had been okay at dealing with it during the first few days. The confusion and new sights and sounds and all the animals trying to convince them that they were someone else and that the life they remembered was a delusion brought on by sudden illness were more than distracting enough. But being stuck here and left to their own devices was monotonous enough for that particular coping mechanism to have quickly become useless.

Even once they were shown to their own room, they quickly found it to not be any better than the washroom in terms of stimulation, save for finally getting some natural lighting. It was also clearly built for someone with a far better command of their body, with a ramp leading up to a large window they were clearly meant to fly out from, and a ledge that they could hang from if they weren't certain they would fall and injure themselves trying. At least the boxed-in pile of blankets and easy access to fresh water was nice, but it was a small comfort in the face of everything else.

If I could just fly around, then I could at least be mobile enough to explore. They balanced on their feet, a harder task than it looked, and spread their wings wide. How is this supposed to even work? A real bat would just kinda know the angle to flap at, right? They gave an honest attempt, only succeeding in throwing themselves backwards and falling over.

They'd fallen over ten times today.

In the end, they could only think of one thing to do. They would need to ask the only one of them who seemingly had figured out flight how he did it. It was either that or go back to counting bricks.

This is pathetic. Everyone is managing just fine except you. Song is even missing a leg and she isn't struggling this much. What is Ink-Talon going to think about you showing up and begging for help? That you're just a useless kid, obviously. Just go back to your room and keep trying. Better to fail in private than humiliate yourself.

"Hello?" the bat pushed down the pessimism just long enough to awkwardly chirp in front of Ink-Talon's door, the entrance obscured only by simple cloth curtains rather than any solid barrier. "Ink-Talon, are you in there?"

"Is someone there?" the crow croaked quietly, as if he were trying to whisper. "Hold on." After an awkward twelve seconds, his beak parted the curtains as he poked his head outside. "Is something wrong?"

"I want to talk about something. Can I come in?"

"Uh..." Ink-Talon ducked back in to look at something for a little under three more seconds before poking his head back out. "Okay, just keep quiet. I've got one of the kits sleeping in here."

"Got it," the bat nodded before crawling inside. The room was laid out very similarly to their own, but with a skylight to exit from rather than from a ledge built part-way up the wall. The black-furred kit that had started talking that morning lay curled up on the bed of blankets, napping away.

"What's in your mind?" Ink-Talon tilted his head and adjusted his wings before cringing at the way that phrase came out. Accurate, but "wrong."

"I need to learn how to fly or else I am going to lose my mind," the bat said bluntly. Subtle wing and body movements were enough to communicate, though uncomfortable given their lack of coordination.

"Oh."

"Can you help? You managed to figure it out."

"I'm... not sure. I think I learned... backwards? Or cheated? I just used my Attunement to determine which muscles did what and acted on that awareness." Ink-Talon visibly sagged a bit, and the bat couldn't tell if it was out of sadness, guilt, or pity.

"Oh. So that's why the other bird can't do it either?" The bat avoided using any name for the myna, as they hadn't quite wrapped their head around her "real" name just yet, and felt awkward using "Pearl" knowing that it was technically incorrect.

"Yeah. Though I was thinking of giving her lessons some time. We have the same body shape, so I should be able to provide instructions. I haven't the slightest idea how your wings work, though. They're built completely differently than a bird's." He extended his left wing and stuck his beak into the flight feathers for emphasis. The bats own wings were made of a solid, fleshy membrane rather than the nineteen rigid-but-separate feathers that fanned out to make up the bulk of its shape. They were almost certainly too different to use as an example.

"...Okay. Guess that's that, then. I'll just have to figure something out on my own. Sorry to bother you." the bat sighed and awkwardly shambled out of the room. They only made it twenty-six steps back down the hallway before he heard the fluttering of wings and the rapid clicking of Ink-Talon's feet on the stone behind him as the bird rushed to catch up.

"Wait! I do have something I'd like to try! Turn around for me."

The bat attempted to do so, only to get his wings tangled and fall. Eleven times that day.

"Okay, I see what you mean. I'm going to do everything I can to help you here, because I don't think I'd be able to take it either if that was the only means I had of moving around."

"...Thanks." the bat peeped, having decided to just lay there in a heap for a bit to regain their composure. There were still approximately nine hours and twenty eight minutes until sunset, and he couldn't help but count every second. This was going to be a long day.

"And I'll help too!" The chipper and incredibly enthusiastic squeaks of the black-furred kit echoed down the hall, the commotion of Ink-Talon's swift exit likely having roused it. "What are we helping with?"

This was going to be a very long day.

"I'm going to try and see if I can use my Attunement to help our friend here figure out their wings," Ink-Talon explained, the kit falling silent as it seemed to contemplate the idea. "Are you able to stand?" He turned back to the bat with a croak. "I need you upright so I can more easily be in direct contact."

"Okay.." The bat grunted as they pulled themselves to their feet, slipping a bit and taking one second longer than intended. “Are you sure this will work?”

“No. I have no idea how to do what I’m trying to do, only that it can be done.” Ink-Talon rested his beak on the top of the bat’s head and closed his eyes. "I was told that it was possible to extend the Awareness granted by Attunement inside of something or someone, and I'm fairly sure that a Physician used that to save my life when we first arrived. I certainly wouldn't be able to use my body right without its help."

The two of them just stood there in silence for about three minutes and nineteen seconds, but the crow didn't seem to get anywhere.

“What if the bat just fell off of something tall over and over?” The kit eventually spoke up, still trying to help, in its own way. “I only figured out how to jump while climbing on something after trying it and failing multiple times!”

“As much as I hate these wings, I’d rather not break all of the bones in them, thanks.”

“Oh. Sorry…”

“I didn’t mean… Look-” The bat paused, taking a deep breath before squeaking out a question of their own. “Kid, do you have a name?”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Black-Leap!” The kit peeped her name like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but judging by the look of open-beaked surprise on his face when he lifted his head, this was the first time Ink-Talon had heard her use it.

“...How long have you had that name?” The crow asked, stepping back and tilting his head.

“Since early today. Why?” If the bat didn’t know better, he would have thought that the kit was making fun of him.

“You have to tell people your name if you want them to use it.”

“Oh.” Black-Leap actually had to stop and think about that. With how talkative it had been, it was easy to forget that it had literally only been self-aware for about half a day, and only had memories going back about a week prior to that. Who knew what qualified as "obvious" to a creature like that? “Are either of you hungry? I’m hungry.” And just like that, it had seemingly gotten over the issue and was onto something else.

“Yeah, actually…” The bat chirped, happy to move on from the topic of names before their own came up. “This is going nowhere, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday…” They withdrew out of Ink-Talon’s reach to force the issue.

“Fair enough,” the crow squawked, pausing to think of what to do when he hit a rather important snag. “...Wait. Where do we go to eat?”

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“I’d actually forgotten what it was like to have choices for a meal.” The bat stared at the small collection of ripe fruits placed on the small stone dais in front of them with wide-eyed wonder. The fixture served as a table of sorts, with multiple others dotting the room. “I’ve just eaten whatever I’ve been given. None of it has been fresh.”

The college had several “feeding areas,” each built with a certain size of resident in mind. They had been led to one for smaller creatures by the Guardian posted at the end of the hall: An extremely stern monitor lizard who neither bothered to introduce itself nor answer anything more complicated than a yes-or-no question. It clearly did not hold their group in high regard, and was currently watching the three of them from the entrance to the room with an uncomfortably intense gaze, warning any other creatures arriving to eat of their presence.

“Yeah, actually. With everything going on I hadn’t given much thought to it. My rations have been pretty much limited to dried crickets. I found some berries along the road, but Quiet-Dream needed them more than I did.” Ink-Talon looked over their own food, a mixture of fruits similar to the bat’s, with some nuts and what appeared to be fresh beetles as well. “Though, I don’t seem to have all that great of a sense of taste or smell, so it really doesn’t matter-” Everything seemed to halt as Ink-Talon’s beak crunched into one of the beetles. It was incredible. The combination of flavor and texture couldn’t be described in human terms, but his Attunement was quick to make him aware of exactly what he was feeling.

Quality protein, high water content, no extra salts or other preservatives. This was literally the healthiest thing he had ever eaten, and something he’d never know that he’d been craving if he’d never experienced it. He needed this. The crow quickly downed the beetle whole and moved on to another one.

“Looks like it definitely matters,” the bat snorted, clearly pleased with the chunk of white fruit (Apple? Pear? No, it wasn’t quite either…) that they had decided to munch on first. “If they’re that good, do you think I could try one? Bats eat bugs, right?”

“I think?” Ink-Talon vaguely recalled hearing that bats were one of the largest controls on Earth’s insect population, but not much else. “Go ahead.” Ink-Talon nudged a beetle over to the bat’s side of the table and looked over his shoulder to make sure Black-Leap was staying out of trouble. She had been provided with softer fruits by one of the College’s Dieticians, suitable for weaning a kit, and had eaten them extremely quickly. Turns out she was more ready for solid food than any of them had thought. Right now, though, she was busying herself with a large, shelled seed that was apparently quite the puzzle for her to get open. She was determined, though. If anything, the challenge seemed to interest her more than the reward.

What was strange, though, was that everything they were eating, save perhaps the insects, seemed… off. Ink-Talon had never cared much for botany, but he’d at least seen fruits, nuts, and seeds before. He didn’t recognize a single one of the things they were given to eat. Obviously, the locals weren’t going to be growing the exact same industrialized “standard” fruits that he was familiar with, and even if they did they would be using different names, but it really did seem like whatever plants they had growing here were similar to whatever existed on Earth, but were still quite distinct. Even the seed Black-Leap was currently attempting to wedge open using a combination of her back paws and a gap between two bricks in the wall was like that. It was called a “deepflower” seed, and while the seed was similar to a sunflower’s, it had a shiny grayish-blue shell and was more circular in shape, as opposed to a sunflower seed’s mottled, teardrop-shaped shell.

Of course, the easy explanation was that this wasn’t Earth, which was true enough, but why was it that this world had identical animals to Earth, but these plants were all just a little different? Were the trees back in Deep’s End different too? Was every plant in this world?

“I know who is here, Guardian. Have you truly been warning everyone away the whole time?” A small commotion near the door just barely caught Ink-Talon’s attention. A very large porcupine was confronting the Guardian at the door, the sweeping crest of quills along its back raised in annoyance as it stamped its feet on the floor to make its point. “They have the right to socialize, and we have the right to approach them, same as any other creature. If this is how you intend to treat them, then why are you even here?”

“Nope! Not good! No no no!” A pained choking sound brought Ink-Talon back to their immediate surroundings, as the bat rapidly alternated between desperately drinking from the water dish next to them and unpleasantly emptying the contents of their stomach onto the floor to the left of it. The beetle they had been so interested in trying sat on the table with a single large chunk bitten out of it, clearly the cause of all of this. An primal thought in the back of Ink-Talon’s head told him to just eat the half-chewed remains of the beetle right then and there, but a combination of disgust at the idea and concern for the bat convinced him to keep his dignity intact, and he managed to file the thought away in the ever-growing pile of “concerning (but not urgent) things to unpack.”

“Are you okay?” the crow asked, almost immediately cringing at just how pointless of a question that was.

“Do I look okay?” the bat wheezed, having purged whatever had made them sick and moved on to dry heaving. “That was the worst thing I have ever tasted. How can you like something that bitter?”

“It… wasn’t bitter to me.” Half of the answer to all of this was immediately apparent. “Bitter” wasn’t among the things his limited sense of taste could pick up on. It was suited to identifying a select few toxins, selecting for the most nutritious things he could consume, and little else.

“Unfortunately, you are a fruit bat, rather than an insect-eating species.” A low huff from behind them signaled the arrival of someone new: the porcupine who had been arguing with the Guardian at the door. It’s quills lay flat against its body, giving it a far sleeker and less imposing silhouette. “Straying outside of your natural diet can be a novelty, but one must be aware of the risks. Of course, that assumes you are aware of your natural diet to begin with.”

“Great. More things about this body that I don’t know.” The bat stared in dismay at the mess it had just made on the floor. “...I’m going to find a towel. Or a rag, or a leaf, or… literally anything I can use to take care of this.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do. I’m not a little kid. I’m going to clean up after myself like a normal human being.” The bat began to shuffle off towards the back of the room, where the Dietician managed and prepared the food stores, likely to ask for something to use.

“I can help!” Black-Leap scampered up, one cheek bulging from the still-unopened seed stuffed into it for safekeeping. “I have grasping paws!”

“...Okay. But I’m going to do the actual work. You can just help me get the stuff to do it.” The bat seemed appreciative for the help, and having it be Black-Leap following their lead likely spared them the blow to their ego that Ink-Talon offering would have dealt.

Unable to do anything else for them, the crow turned to the new visitor.

“Sorry that you had to see all of this. I wish I could tell you that things are usually better, but this is honestly how it has been for most of us. Repeatedly coming across some aspect of our bodies or Understanding that we were unaware of and…” The crow stared into the porcupine’s eyes, trying to get any sort of read on it. Even with his Attunement, he could sometimes grasp something vague about a stranger if he tried hard enough. Here, he got a sense of uncertainty, but little else. “...Embarrassing ourselves.”

“But not for you, it seems.” the porcupine squeaked, looking the confused bird up and down for a few moments before the tension in its stance faded. “I am glad that Ink-Talon’s form seems to suit you. It would not have wanted you to suffer.”

“...Thank you?” He couldn’t help but hear Quiet-Dream’s accusations of “thriving” like this replaying in his mind. He still wouldn’t go that far, but it was increasingly clear that his discomforts with being a crow had ceased to be physical some time ago. “You knew it, then. The Scholar. I’m sorry.”

“To be honest,” The porcupine began to pace back and forth, never breaking eye contact. “I am beginning to wonder if I did.” It paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I am called Archivist Sharp-Search. I manage the College’s library of records and reference materials, and Scholar Ink-Talon is, or was, my research partner. I need your help.”