He started to write.

Five characters, right there in the dirt.

Zero that I understood.

I clicked my teeth in distress as he etched out the unfamiliar symbols with his unfamiliar glossy red tendrils. Obviously, this squish-creature didn’t get a lick of what I had been trying to indicate. Well, either that, or I wasn’t getting his reply. Because body language at least seemed to be universal, I shook my head, white curls getting in the way of my eyes. Shiver. Still, it was trying to communicate in the first place. No attacking.

Tentatively, I took a few steps back toward him. My carapace quivered with uncertainty. Perhaps I would have to get more aggressive in my gesture-questions. It was becoming really doubtful that he knew anything significant about the portal. That was fine — for now. There were other things to ask. “Your legs,” I said, pointing to his. “Fucking stupid. Fall over. Why they like that? Only two? Mine,” I said, pointing thusly, “mine are more. Stable. No falling over.”

Hrmmm. Actually, considering his answer might be more confused scribbles in the dirt, it was best that it investigated this myself.

For discovery, of course.

I skittered forward, gave him a hard push, and skittered back through the prickly grass again.