Fralith patted his stomach with a sigh. Feeling full was one of his top favorite feelings. It was warm and fuzzy and always for all the right reasons. Food was good. Food meant good. Except if it was SillyBirds, then it was less good. Much less good.

He yawned and rubbed the scar on his face, glancing towards the empty chair by the door. When he'd woken up, the guard was gone and hadn't returned. No one had replaced him, either. Why was the guard gone? He couldn't help wonder if it was because something the woman had told them.

A shiver rose under his skin but he shoved it back. Whatever she'd told them, it might mean he would have no guard, which was better if he ever wanted to escape. FlameHair's shadow fell across the dishes and he leaned away, but not as far as he used to. FlameHair wouldn't get too close. It was okay. Mostly.

As FlameHair cleaned up the remains of breakfast, he let his gaze wander to the funny, large rectangle on the cart. Four knobs stuck out of the top along with two separate, weirder-looking ones. From what he could see of the side, a small ClearStone rectangle set in its face allowed one to see inside the rectangle.

"Yeah, I know. That thing's ancient."

He blinked and darted his eyes towards FlameHair who smiled at him with an...almost sheepish expression.

"Who knew cassette players still existed, eh? This Hospital could be a museum with all its ancient tech. I even found an old roll of film frown there. Film. Like, the actual black strips people made black and white movies with." He shook his head, chuckling, and placed the bigger rectangle in front of Fralith along with four small, flat black rectangles with two circular dents on one side. "There. See what you think of that."

He frowned at them then looked up at FlameHair. What were these for? FlameHair just smiled and made a 'go on' motion. He looked back at the rectangles, brows furrowed. Why would FlameHair want him to look at them? What was so special about them?

Cautiously, he picked one of the smaller rectangles up. It was light and had a rough outside. The indents were white and toothy and seemed to serve some purpose. He turned it over and over in his hands, squinting.

What was it for? Throwing? Experimentally, he tossed into the air and caught it. There was nothing special about how it flew. Not throwing, then. Maybe...building? Fralith stacked all four on top of each other then poked the small tower with varying degrees of force. It toppled after the second poke. Not good for building with. Choosing two, he tapped, slapped, and slid each one of their sides on the other to see if they snapped together. None of the sides worked, even the white indents.

He growled silently at the rectangles, putting them down. What were they for? With a huff he turned to the bigger rectangle and picked it up. As his fingers closed around the top where the knobs were, two of them slid down with a loud, click!

Fralith blinked. Buttons? They were buttons? But why would buttons be on a rectangle? He pushed the last one still standing. Just like the others, it slid down with a click. At the same time, the ClearStone part popped open.

What? With the ClearStone flap open, he could see much more of the innards of the bigger rectangle. It looked nothing like any innards he'd ever seen. It was all pokey and protruding parts arranged in very specific ways. Specific ways that looked... he eyed the flap then one of the smaller rectangles. Yes...they were the same size.

He grabbed one of the smaller rectangles and slid it into the flap's hole. It fit perfectly. After some fiddling, he managed to get the ClearStone flap to snap shut as well. As soon as it did, the rectangle spluttered to life.

"Hola buen día," crackled a voice from the rectangle.

Fralith yelped, the rectangle slipping from his grasp. It spoke?!

"Estoy hablando español. ¿Hablas español? Esta es una prueba y un registro de idiomas para el Hospital del Hemisferio Norte para pacientes que no hablan inglés. Queso de ganso. Estás en el hospital—"

The voice cut off as FlameHair pushed one of the buttons. With a click! the ClearStone window popped open. "You figured out how to play it," he remarked with some bemusement, pulling out the smaller rectangle and setting it aside. "Smart inquisitive cookie." He chuckled and looked at him, grinning.

He stared at FlameHair and the bigger rectangle. How had it spoken? Was it like MimickBirds that mimicked really well? It couldn't be; rectangles couldn't speak! They were shapes! "Bleh!" he cried, shaking his head. "Bleh, bleh, bleh!" He didn't like it. Not one bit. MetalEaters he could handle — as long as they stayed far away from him — and bed beasts he could comprehend. But talking shapes? No. Just no. It wasn't possible. It just— couldn't be. Shapes didn't talk. Couldn't talk. Shouldn't talk.

FlameHair raised his eyebrows. "'Bleh'?"

Fralith waved his fingers around, flicking them with displeasure. "Bleh!" No more rectangles! They're too weird! When FlameHair didn't respond, he shoved the remaining rectangles off the bed, ignoring the squawk of protest from his injured arm. They clattered to the ground, momentarily drowning out the BeepCorner.

"Hey, be careful with those," FameHair said, bending down and picking them up. He examined them then put them down, turning to him with brows furrowed. "What's wrong with the cassettes?"

Huffing, he turned away, pulling his injured arm close to his chest. His ribs poked into his arm, but not nearly as much as they had when he'd first woken up here. All the food had done him good.

"Brave Bud?"

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself not to look at FlameHair. Instead, he stared at one of the hunks of metal in the BeepCorner, blinking rapidly to ease the stinging in his eyes and the tightness constricting his throat. He didn't want to look at FlameHair and his brightly colored hair. He didn't want to see the concern written in his posture or the rectangle in his hand.

He swallowed hard and sucked in a breath, heat hugging his ears and fuzzing in his head. He didn't want to be reminded that they were so different. So foreign. So...not from home. Instead, he wanted to see things that he knew. Things that were safe. Things that were normal, like his knife or his clothes or his shoes. He wanted them back. Wanted to hug them and never let go. Wanted to bury his nose in his fur-lined shirt and smell the fading scent of warm summer days and Hinchilla fur.

But they were gone — unreachable, like his home.

"Brave Bud?" A warm hand landed on his shoulder.

Fralith tensed, breath catching. FlameHair was touching him. Touching him. And it— and it was...warm. His hand was warm. Soft. Gentle. Caring. Emotion rushed forwards like water released from a dam; so fast and sudden that it was all he could do to keep it inside.

FlameHair cared about him. Cared enough that he touched him. Cared enough, cared loud enough, that— that— he didn't want to pull away. FlameHair was safe. Good. Caring.

"Oh, Brave Bud," FlameHair breathed. His hand slowly moved to his back where he started to rub.

He flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, but let FlameHair continue.

"You've done so well. I...I know you don't understand me but, you're so brave, Bud. Not just because you saved that girl and boy from that man, but because you keep on going — keep on trying — even when you don't understand what's going on. I know it's hard for you; you must think you're in a completely new world from what you're used to. That's a lot to deal with. We don't have to go through the cassettes if it's too much. You set the pace, Brave Bud. I'll follow."

Fralith didn't understand what FlameHair was saying, but the tone of his voice — the way he said each word with the utmost care — soothed the ache in his heart and the tightness in his throat. The heat in his mind faded and he took a deep, calming breath. Okay. It was...okay. Swiping at his eyes, he shifted around until he could see FlameHair.

FlameHair smiled at him gently. "Yes, I mean it. I don't want to overwhelm you and your brave, curious heart." Hesitating for a moment, he lifted his hand and, slowly, reached towards Fralith's face.

Fralith pulled back a little, watching the hand. What was— FlameHair brushed back a clump of black hair from his face, carefully hooking it behind his ear. Fralith blinked slowly as FlameHair retracted his hand. Why...did he do that? He reached up and fingered his hair, curiously peeking up at FlameHair through the strands.

Seemingly deciding something, FlameHair straightened. "Let's see if this works." He put a hand to his chest. "Tim. I'm Tim. Tuh-im. Tim, that's me." He pointed at Fralith. "What's your name?"

Tilting his head, Fralith wrinkled his brow. Huh? Why was FlameHair pointing at him?

FlameHair frowned a little then pointed back to himself. "Tim. My name is Tim. Tim." He glanced around then patted the bed beast. "Bed. This is called a bed." Pointing to himself again he repeated, "Tim." Then to the bed beast. "Bed."

Bed beast, FlameHair. Bed beast, FlameHair. And those two words — the tuh-im and the buh-ed — repeated when FlameHair pointed at something. Fralith blinked slowly, understanding creeping up on him like dawn. FlameHair was saying the names of the things he pointed at. The bed beast was called bed and FlameHair, Tim.

Names. Words. Language. He lit up, a little excited chirp escaping his mouth. FlameHair — Tim — was teaching him how to speak his language! If he could speak it — or at least understand it — everything would be so much easier. He could ask questions and be answered! He could plead for his freedom or maybe learn enough from their conversations about the ways out. Language was everything, and Tim was giving it to him.

Straightening, he patted the bed. "Aliam!" he announced in SecondHomish.

Tim brightened and repeated the word back to him. "Al..li..am?"

Fralith nodded emphatically. "Aliam. Buh-ed!"

A grin spread across Tim's face, a light dancing in his eyes. "Maybe we don't need those cassettes. We can just speak your language."

His own grin curved his lips. Tim was getting it! They could understand each other! A LyricBird's tune sang within him and for the first time since he'd arrived here, a sliver of hope bloomed on the horizon.