Flume slipped awake from a dream of gnawing on a perfectly stale bun, that delicious golden kind that was just the right size to fit in the joint of your jaw and flavored your whole mouth with warm bread. With a regretful sigh Flume came awake and carefully extracted the soft fiber sack that Victor used to keep all his weird joints in alignment when he fell into that deep state of torpor that was so necessary to humans. Flume grimaced and ran his tongue over his teeth. It wasn’t that the clean sack tasted bad exactly, but when your dreams were filling your nose with the smell of perfect bread waking up to the taste of vegetative fibers was a serious disappointment.
Flume gave a careful stretch, mindful of the breathing patterns of his bedfellow. Victor was pumping out enough heat-units per heartbeat to count as a decently efficient furnace and trapped under the thick blankets the heat soaked deliciously into Flume’s every joint. Flume listened carefully to Victor’s breathing, which was deep and steady, and decided that the human was deep enough in torpor that a quick adjustment was acceptable. Flume snuggled closed up to the warm mass of human muscle on the other side of a thin fiber weave and gave a happy sigh. Flume dropped back into his dream wondering if Victor would mind about any minor damage to the fiber sack.
Flume’s next wake cycle came from a dream of sorting grains by viability and Victor was shifting around. Flume wondered if he a had woken his friend when the air was suddenly pierced by the shrieking of rending metal. Flume jerked up into a sitting position, starting out into the cool air of the room. Victor groaned and began swinging his body from side to side, before lunging up and staggering to the computer display on the wall. The human sagged against the wall and pawed at the display until the sound, an alarm Flume realized, stopped and then staggered back to the bed. Victor gave a few thrashes that reset the blankets and even made sure to re-secure the blankets over Flume.
“Wasn’t that the wake alarm Victor?” Flume asked as they snuggled down into the mattress.
“Just ten more minutes,” Victor slurred out, tossing an arm around Flume and pulling him close.
“Won’t that make it difficult to complete your morning routine?” Flume asked through a yawn.
“I c’n make it,” Victor assured him. “Can do everything in five if I need to.”
Victor’s breathing slipped back into sleep patterns and Flume considered that. If Victor could complete his entire morning preparation for the day in five (minutes presumably) why did he have his alarms set to wake him an hour before he began his work. Flume had just slipped into sleep again when the sound of rending metal filled the room and once more Victor staggered up, stopped the alarm and crawled back into bed. Flume hummed thoughtfully and pulled the pillow back into his mouth. It didn’t taste that bad and it was decent for a gnaw. What was the point of this behavior? Of setting such a horrible alarm, setting it so one had to leave the comfort of bed and sleep-mate to turn it off, and then just ignoring it?

​“Really,” muttered Eighth Click as he landed by St’Stck. “This is just downright insulting!”
St’Stck, showing great amounts of self control he rather thought, refrained from heaving a dramatic sigh as Eighth Click pushed into his personal space on the high perch that overlooked the broad open space that served the humans as a recreational ground, the quad, as they called it.
St’stck could not assume that the statement needed any response so he settled back down to where he had nominally been watching the match between the two teams of humans hurling a lightweight plastic disc back and forth over a net suspended in the air. Really, at this distance it was all rather a blurry patch of movement, but the cheerful sounds of human exertion that drifted over the quad to his sensory hairs, the warmth of the local sun, the stated fact that teams changed quickly and he would not be required to recognize a ‘winner’, and the swirls of movement made for a relaxing state of meditation. Or rather it had.
“As if any winged with his horns attached wouldn’t be able to dodge such a giant, slow moving mass!” Eighth Click was going on, working himself up into a fury as indicated by the way his fur rippled in eerie waves down his body. “As to getting smacked or grabbed by a human! If any Winged has the energy to lift off the perch we have the speed and dexterity to-”
St’Stck edged away slowly trying to slip back into the easy meditative stated he had been in before this nuisance had landed beside him. The swirling patters of human movement were very soothing and he was quite ignoring irritating voice when it changed cadence and pitch suddenly to a directed question.
“What did you ask?” St’Stck asked, “I wasn’t listening.” He wondered when he had stopped being horrified by having to make such an admission.
“Why would Susie lie about her abilities?” Eighth Click presumably repeated. “Is it some sort of long term competitive behavior?”
St’Stck stiffened up a bit. He didn’t know this Susie by name but as irritating as Eighth Click was he was usually astute in his observations of human behavior.
“What was Human Susie lying about?” He asked.
“You really weren’t listening,” Eighth Click observed with a snort and a toss of his head. “She as always been quite adamant to me that she was bad at this game.”
Eighth Click, for a wonder, actually paused as if he expected a reaction from St’Stck and was giving him time to think about his response.
“What game are they playing?” St’Stck asked. “I can’t actually see details at this distance and they have never explained it to me.”
Eighth Click made a sound of surprise and rubbed his horns thoughtfully.
“It is an object to forbidden zone game,” he explained, speaking slowly for a Winged. “They have that lightweight flat disc that is designed as a wing surface with no inherent directonality. The humans catch and fling the wing surface with their hands over an obstical that sepearates the two forbiden zones. The goal is to get the wing surface to strike the ground in your opponents forbidden zone.” Eighth Click paused again and St’Stck pondered this.
“And Human Susie claimed to have little skill at this, but you judge that she has much skill at this game?” St’Stck asked.
Eighth Click bounced his body about in a Winged gesture of confirmation.
“She swore to me that she lacked the hand eye coordination to catch the wing surface, the coordination to fling it directionality, and the power to fling it any useful distance,” he explained, “and she is nowhere near the best player on the field but she is frequently catching the wing surface and directing it with intention.”
Eighth Click actually let silence fall over their thought as St’Stck ground this between his mandibles. Though St’STck could see that Eighth Click was twitching to prompt him to speech.
“Human Susie is not one to exagerate or mistate her abilitys in my observation arc,” St’Stck finally said.
“Oh I agree!” Eighth Click interjected. “That is why this is nipping my wingtips!”
“She is however fairly young in comparison to the other humans on this campus,” St’Stck mused, rubbing his chilcerae thoughtfully with one paw.
“What does that have to do with the topic?” Eighth Click asked .
“Those massive brains humans have,” St’Stck said. “I am under the impression that they do no fully finish developing till a human closes in on thirty of their standard years.”
Eighth Click actually paused and that and gave a thoughtful chirp.
“Human Susie is only twenty-five standard Earth years,” St’Stck observed.
“Maybe the last time she played this game she really was as bad as she said,” Eighth Click mused. “She did tell me that she hadn’t attempted the game in many years and was only doing so now because a particularly friendly human had pressed her into it.”
“It must be quite strange to have a feel for you abilities for many years, and then have that changed by a game,” St’stck observed.
“I suppose so,” Eighth Click agreed. “Like going bald, but in reverse.”
St’Stck absently patted his own head to check for thinning.  

​Fsts’ks adjusted his safety helmet, it was a disturbing shade of yellow, something that was supposed to be universally visible to the seven sapient species, and made a quick survey of the surrounding area. The cool morning breezes were filtering through the young trees that surrounded a wide open area the humans had been using for some form of recreation the previous day. Something red had caught Fsts’ks attention fluttering out in the open area and he wished, not for the first time, that he had brought his hover transport. Up in the trees it was fairly easy to keep at human eye level and maintain safe interactions, however out here on the ground where a human didn’t expect to see one, well it could get dangerous with their giant flat paws slapping into the ground every time they lost their balance.
Fsts’ks lifted his distance magnifier and examined the fluttering red thing on the ground. It looked like a rather greasy piece of paper. Fsts’ks brushed the hairs on his chelicerae against his mandible, trying to identify the odd, bitter taste that lingered this close to the ground. He angled the magnifier around the filed and clicked disappointingly at the sheer number of the paper fragments revealed. He mused that for human hands, and eyes, those would be very small pieces and perhaps difficult to notice. He tucked his magnifier into his satchel and deliberately circled in place, looking for the distant movements that might indicated a human running across the open space. Deciding that particular danger wasn’t relevant today, and again wishing he had brought out his hover transport. Fsts’ks scampered across the clearing to the scrap of paper and tried not to think about the vast stretch of open sky above him. He reached the item snatched it up and shoved it into this satchel before turning with relief back to the relative protection of the young forest. Once in the shade he un-fluffed enough to pull out the scrap and examine it.
The paper was obviously the source of the bitter taste and now that he had it in his paws he was able to identify the chemical. Which caused him to fluff right back up. The paper absolutely reeked of simple chemical explosives. Fsts’ks reached up and smoothed down the fur under his safety helment.
“This requires more information,” he muttered to himself.
With a sigh he shoved the paper in his satchel and began the long trot to the nearest communication log. The log itself was poised next to a pool of water and was pleasantly cool, filled the surrounding air with delicious organic compounds, and various fungus had been grown to provide easy steps up to the communication surface. Fsts’ks mounted to the surface and stared in mild amusement at the roughly Trisk shaped bundle of sticks, dried leaves, and moss that slumped in a little alcove. He tapped the surface pointed with a back paw. There was a shimmer of silvery movement as the local Gathering infused the little simulacrum with its fibers and the puppet rose to a rather disturbing semblance of life.
“Can I assist you?” Notes the Passing Changes asked, the voice flickering though several sound profiles.
“What happened out in the large meadow yesterday?” Fsts’ks asked, holding out the red paper in explanation.
The simulacrum reached out and touched it, silvery hairs extended out of its paws.
“This is from the combat simulations the human children were running,” Notes the Passing Changes explained.
Fsts’ks ignored how the simulacrum’s chelicerae drooped while he processed that.
“The human children,” he said slowly, “they were running combat simulations with actual explosives?”
“There were a few adults supervising the exercise,” Notes the Passing Changes explained, “and they informed me that these are strictly recreational level explosives, safe for children to use.”
“Was this a planned event?” Fsts’ks asked. “I did not see it on the festivities schedule.”
“No,” Notes the Passing Changes said, the head of the simulacrum rotating in a way that made Fsts’ks flinch back. “The children actually came to to simply play with their solid print warrior toys. They were arranging them into formations when one of the smaller humans suggested using the recreational explosives as mortars. The adults took the roll of artillery support and the children called in air strikes on their toys. It was too dark to clean up the remains afterwards but they will be sending out a cleaning party later today.”
The simulacrum stood poised attentively at the end of that sentence, and Fsts’ks drew in a long breath.
“Thank you,” he said. “I think that is quite enough information for me to process at the moment.”