Grub woke slowly the next morning. For several seconds he simply lay there on his bed of woven roots and moss, staring up at the uneven roof of branches above him while the events of yesterday settled back into his mind. How he'd entered the cave. The monster that attacked. The long fall and floating through the river after it. The climb back up the cliff with bleeding fingers and shaking legs. His body reminded him of every single part of it.
When he finally moved, the pain arrived all at once. His ribs ached the moment he tried to stretch. The claw marks across his throat burned faintly beneath the cloth wrapped around them. Even the muscles in his legs felt stiff and heavy from the effort of swimming and climbing while half dead from exhaustion. He groaned quietly and rolled his shoulders, the movement sending another sharp pulse of pain through his side. The pain he felt was constant, Grub already conceded to the reality that this pain may never end.
Grub winced, then laughed softly to himself. "Still alive." That alone made the pain tolerable. Yesterday he had almost died several times. Today he had something much more interesting to do.
He reached beside his bed and picked up his notebook. The worn pages rustled softly as he flipped through them. There were: Sketches of plants, notes about animals, observations about the lizard soldiers, rough maps of the surrounding forest and the page where he had proudly placed a check mark beside, Find a reliable water source.
Grub closed the notebook with a satisfied nod. Now came the next challenge. Learning the language.
He stepped outside the shelter and breathed in the cool forest air. Morning light filtered through the trees in long pale beams, illuminating drifting dust and moisture between the branches. Somewhere in the distance the faint sounds of the lizard settlement drifted through the forest—metal striking metal, voices calling out to one another, there was an abundance of movement and life. Grub smiled slightly.
Time to start learning.
Getting close to the settlement required preparation. Walking straight into a military camp full of armed reptilian soldiers was not a strategy that favored survival. Even if the lizards turned out to be friendly, Grub doubted the first thing they would do upon seeing a strange warm-blooded mammal wandering through their territory would be politely inviting him in for conversation. So he improvised again. Grub began gathering materials from the forest floor. He picked up small twigs, loose vines and broad leaves. He packed several strips of moss and clumps of dried grass. Anything that looked like it naturally belonged there. Piece by piece he began tying them together.
The process took longer than he liked—far longer. Several times the vines snapped when he tightened them too much. A few branches cracked entirely and had to be replaced. Leaves fell off faster than he could reattach them. At one point the entire structure collapsed in his hands and he had to sit back and stare at the pile of sticks in silent frustration.
"This is harder than it looks," he muttered to himself.
Still, he kept working. He wove longer branches into a loose frame first. Then he layered leaves and moss across the outer surface so the structure would break up its shape. Thin roots were tied through the branches to hold everything together while still allowing the whole thing to bend slightly like natural brush.
After nearly two hours of patient weaving, tying, and quiet complaining, Grub finally stepped back to inspect his creation. It looked like a bush—a very convincing bush. He walked around it slowly, studying the outline from different angles. The uneven layers of leaves disguised the structure well. Small branches stuck out in natural directions. Even the color matched the surrounding forest debris.
Grub nodded with quiet satisfaction. "Eureka." Then he climbed inside.
The disguise settled over his shoulders and back like a cloak made of forest debris. From the outside it appeared to be nothing more than a strangely shaped clump of brush. But the inside had been carefully designed. Near eye level he had left a small opening between several leaves just wide enough to see through without exposing his face. The final detail made him particularly proud. Grub lifted a hollow twig he had shaved down earlier. The small stick had been carefully carved until the center formed a narrow tube. He slid one end through the leaves of the disguise and pressed the other end against his ear. It was a crude but effective listening tube. He leaned slightly to the side and tested it by whispering. The sound carried cleanly through the hollow wood.
Grub grinned. "My genius knows no bounds."
Then he paused. The realization slowly crept into his mind. He was sitting inside a portable bush preparing to spy on people.
Grub shuddered. "Oh god, am I a peeping tom?"
He sighed, then pushed the thought aside. Education required sacrifice.
The bush began moving through the forest very slowly. Grub had to control every step carefully so the branches wouldn't shake unnaturally. A bush that occasionally rustled in the wind was normal. A bush that suddenly sprinted through the forest was suspicious. Step. Pause. Listen. Step again. Pause. He continued like that for nearly twenty minutes until the sounds of the settlement grew clearer ahead.
Eventually he reached the outer edge of the camp. Rows of tents and leather huts stretched across the clearing while dozens of armored lizards moved about their daily routines. Grub shuffled forward one last time and then plopped down beside a cluster of natural bushes near the tree line. From the outside he blended in perfectly. Inside the disguise he carefully opened his notebook and held the charcoal between his fingers. Time to begin.
The first thing he noticed was how much the lizards talked. They spoke constantly—short exchanges between soldiers passing each other, longer conversations near cooking fires, orders shouted across training fields, quiet murmurs between pairs standing close together. Grub scribbled quickly. He didn't write words. He wrote sounds. Phonetic guesses. Patterns of syllables exactly as he heard them. He had no idea what most of it meant yet, but he would eventually.
His first useful observation happened around midday. Two soldiers stood near a wooden table stacked with bowls of food. One of them reached for something too quickly and accidentally knocked a dish off the table. The bowl hit the ground and fruit rolled across the dirt along with several large insects Grub recognized from earlier notes in his journal. The other soldier snapped something sharply. The tone was unmistakable—angry. The second lizard flinched slightly and muttered a short phrase in response before turning and walking away slowly with its head lowered.
Grub leaned forward inside the bush. That had to be an apology. He wrote the sound carefully and circled it three times before jotting down a note beside it.
Possible meaning: sorry.
Later in the afternoon he heard something new—a lighter voice, higher pitched than the others. Grub froze and slowly angled his viewing gap toward the sound. Two lizards stood beside one of the huts speaking quietly. The smaller one gestured often while speaking while the larger one responded with slower, deeper tones. Their voices blended together in rhythmic bursts of unfamiliar syllables that sounded far more relaxed than the sharp commands he had heard earlier.
Eventually they walked into the hut. The window remained open. Grub hesitated for a moment before leaning slightly closer to see through the gap. Inside the hut he saw things—things most people probably wouldn't want to witness while spying on strangers. The two lizards were clearly entertaining themselves.
Grub blinked once. Then twice. Slowly he opened his notebook.I
It's for educational purposes, he told himself.
He wrote everything down: the tones of their voices, repeated sounds, context, gestures. Still, he shuddered slightly as he scribbled. "I feel like an even bigger creep now," he muttered under his breath.
The afternoon continued like that. Arguments broke out between soldiers over small mistakes. Laughter echoed from groups gathered near the cooking fires. Commands were shouted across the training field while others carried equipment between the rows of tents. Grub filled page after page with rough phonetic scribbles as he tried to capture every sound he heard. By the time the sun began setting, his notebook was nearly overflowing with strange syllables and messy notes.
Satisfied with his first day of observation, Grub carefully crawled backward through the bushes and retreated into the forest. The walking bush returned home.
Once safely inside his shelter he removed the disguise and dropped it beside the entrance. Then he sat down, opened the notebook again, and began studying.
Hours passed. The forest outside grew quiet as night settled over the land, but Grub barely noticed. He studied every page, repeating sounds quietly under his breath while comparing patterns and matching tones with possible meanings. One page turned into two, then five, then ten. At some point the moon rose high above the trees, but Grub was still writing, still muttering, still analyzing.
Finally, just before dawn, he froze. Grub looked down at one of the phrases he had written earlier. Then he leaned back slowly and tapped the page with his charcoal.
"Ah," he murmured softly. "So that means… hi."
A grin slowly spread across his face. His first word. His first real step.
Grub closed the notebook and rubbed his tired eyes. Then he sighed. There were hundreds more sounds inside those pages. Hundreds more meanings to uncover. Hundreds more conversations to listen to. He stretched his sore back and stood up slowly.
"No matter how long it takes," he muttered to himself. "I'll crack the code."