Small Earth
Several weeks had passed since Paul Tree began speaking more naturally.
He no longer paused every few minutes to mimic words, and though his voice still carried a birdlike cadence - a rise and fall of tone absent in English - the sudden chirps had stopped.
He was learning to write, too, and read eagerly. He stayed up through the night watching nature documentaries, filling his issued notebook (colored pencils only - pens and regular pencils were considered potential weapons) with sketches and notes about creatures he had never seen before.
But recently, something inside Paul's chest had begun to stir.
Each time the air shifted through the vents, his feathers fluttered slightly. Each time the door opened, his head jerked toward it in alarm. Even though there was nothing but trees beyond the window, he would gaze at them for long stretches, as if they stretched all the way to the horizon.
And of course, Ken noticed.
"Exhibiting stereotypy again," Ken said. "That's the third time today."
"stereotypy?" Paul echoed, curious about the unfamiliar term.
"It's repetitive abnormal behaviour often seen in confined animals. They repeat the same action over and over. Feeling restless?" Ken asked.
Paul paused before quietly replying.
"I need some air."
"If it's air you're after, the HEPA filters bring in plenty of fresh external air. Air quality shouldn't be an issue - "
"I mean sky air," Paul interrupted.
"The smell of dirt, rain, fallen leaves… I can't feel any of that here."
Ken sighed softly. "You know you can't go outside."
"So you put me in a cage and call it kindness?"
Paul's wings trembled faintly as he spoke. There was no anger in his voice - only quiet exhaustion. The kind that still lingered from his fall weeks ago.
And Ken, as a containment researcher, knew that kind of fatigue all too well.
As he thought it over, an idea struck him.
"You can't go outside… but maybe I can give you something close."
Paul tilted his head, intrigued.
"There's a veterinary containment wing - for non-anomalous animals used as controls. It's not quite the open air, but… It's similar."
A spark lit up in Paul's eyes.
"Animals? Warm-blooded ones?"
"Oh, plenty," Ken said with a grin.
"Mammals, reptiles, birds, fish. Like a miniature Earth."
Dogs - House-Raptors
The corridor to the veterinary building felt entirely different - warmer, noisier.
The steady hum of laboratory machines had been replaced by the sounds of footsteps, squeaks, and splashing water.
As they neared the building, Paul's feathers quivered with each new scent - hay, sweat, ammonia, manure. The smell of other living things.
Ken swiped his ID card. With a soft hiss, the door opened, revealing a corridor lined with glass and metal grates. Somewhere, a dog barked.
Paul startled, feathers standing on end. "What was that?"
"A dog," Ken answered. "You'll like them."
"Dog?" Paul repeated the word several times, then smiled. "Short, sharp name. Let's meet this 'dog,' then."
The dog room was the loudest place Paul had ever been since arriving on Earth.
Barking came from all directions - sharp as obsidian, plaintive like birdsong, deep enough to shake the floor. The air was warm and humid with their breath, thick with the scent of fur, disinfectant, adrenaline, loyalty, hunger, and above all, joy.
Paul instinctively tensed, feathers rising. "Predators," he murmured.
"In a way, yes," Ken replied faintly. "But they don't hunt anymore. Come on."
Paul followed, studying each cage. The dogs varied in size and colour but were clearly kin - tails wagging, ears tagged, eyes bright with life. When one barked, others joined in, not as a warning but in greeting.
A handler opened a small cage and brought a golden retriever, its coat shining like sunlight.
Paul knelt slowly, lowering himself to meet its eyes. He extended one clawed wing.
The retriever sniffed it, then gently licked it. Paul blinked in surprise. "Did it just… clean me?"
Ken chuckled. "That means it likes you. It's a greeting."
Paul looked at the saliva on his feathers. "A very… intimate greeting. In my world, we don't go around licking just anyone."
Leaning closer, he examined the retriever carefully - the broad shoulders, the expressive eyes, the balance of strength and gentleness in its posture.
"A good candidate for a house-raptor," Paul said at last.
"A what?" Ken asked.
"House-raptor. Tamed hunters that once roamed the plains. Quick, loyal, territorial. They guarded their nests and young fiercely - even drove off sea predators. Some even had feathers instead of scales."
Paul stroked the retriever's head gently. The dog licked his face, and Paul leaned back with a sigh. "A house-raptor wouldn't let me touch it like this. They'd stand guard… but never trust us this much."
"They were bred for it," Ken said. "Humans gave them shelter, food, safety - and in return, earned their loyalty. It's a partnership that's lasted thousands of years."
Paul nodded. "We did the same. We just left them a bit more wild."
He petted the retriever again. "Your house-raptors traded their claws for kindness."
The retriever lowered its head to sniff Paul's feet, tail thumping against the floor.
Something tightened in Paul's chest - a mix of nostalgia, yearning, and something he couldn't quite name.
He remembered his world's house-raptors curling beneath his perch, pretending to sleep while keeping guard. This animal carried the same loyalty, the same bond: different form, same soul.
"This one would have done well in our world," Paul murmured. "We'd have called it the featherless guardian."
"That's quite poetic," Ken said with a smile.
Paul nodded, eyes still on the retriever. "In your world and mine, we all need companions. It's only in different form."
The retriever licked Paul's wing again. This time, he didn't pull away. It curled up beside his feet, eyes half-closed, tail still wagging.
Paul whispered to Ken, "Strange, isn't it? It's as if all these creatures remember their past selves - as if the sky keeps trying the same idea again."
Ken said nothing. He didn't need to.
A feathered visitor, sitting with a dog, listening to the sound of the wind. That was enough.
Researcher Ken Lee - Observation Log
Initially, the subject showed fear and confusion toward the dog.
Soon after, it knelt and began interacting calmly. Described the dog as similar to "house-raptors" from its home world.
Suggest studying the evolutionary and cultural parallels between "house-raptors" and ancient Earth raptors.
It seems humanity's best friend exists across worlds.
