[ it’s progress. dextera pauses briefly, and he decides to take this conclusion as a small victory. he can’t speak, nor can the birds in his world—but the silence of nature is maybe too abstract a concept to communicate with one or two waves of the hand.
so he nods, confirming the guess. maybe it was already obvious that he can’t speak, or maybe it just seemed like he was being quiet for the benefit of his surroundings. ]
…
[ inevitably, though, he wonders if he should leave it there. a bird twitters again. he hurriedly points in its direction, and then spreads his palm to messily write a word with his other band’s index finger—“first.”
shamefully, the first birdsong he can recall hearing. ]
don’t worry on both counts i’m also bad at charades :’)
so he nods, confirming the guess. maybe it was already obvious that he can’t speak, or maybe it just seemed like he was being quiet for the benefit of his surroundings. ]
…
[ inevitably, though, he wonders if he should leave it there. a bird twitters again. he hurriedly points in its direction, and then spreads his palm to messily write a word with his other band’s index finger—“first.”
shamefully, the first birdsong he can recall hearing. ]