Thornan pressed his clawed finger against the worn page, tracing the strange human symbols. The book felt small in his red hands. He sat in the shade of a crumbling wall, repeating the sounds under his breath. "Hel-lo. I am friend." The words felt clumsy on his tongue, but he kept trying. In New Xaxsuroth, scared people ran when they saw his horns and red skin. Children hid behind their parents. If he could speak their language, maybe they would see past his demon face. Maybe they would trust him enough to let him help them. He turned the page and started again. The library helped, but most people still avoided him. He needed somewhere different. Somewhere people already felt comfortable. Somewhere they came for simple, happy things. That's when he saw the refreshments bar at the edge of the market. Wooden posts held up a shade cover. Benches sat empty beneath it. The owner had left weeks ago, and no one had claimed it since. Thornan walked around it slowly. This place could work. People got thirsty in the desert heat. They would come for water and rest. And while they drank, he could practice his words with them. He cleaned the counter and filled clay jars with cool water from the well. He arranged cups in neat rows. When the first customer arrived, Thornan's heart pounded. The man froze when he saw red skin and horns. Thornan took a breath and spoke the words he'd practiced. "Hel-lo. I am friend. Water?" His voice came out rough but clear. The man hesitated, then nodded. Thornan poured the water with careful hands. The man drank, paid with a small coin, and left without running. It was a start. Each day brought more people. Some still feared him, but others began to listen. He learned new words from them—"thank you" and "good day" and "see you tomorrow." His tongue grew stronger with each conversation. The refreshments bar became his classroom, and every customer became his teacher. He was learning. Slowly, one word at a time, he was building the trust he needed to protect them all.

Thornan wiped down the counter and studied his practice book one more time. The human words still felt strange in his mouth, but he was getting better. Today he would try something new—asking questions instead of just offering water. He needed to learn how conversations worked, not just memorize phrases. A woman approached the bar, and Thornan straightened up. "Good day," he said, the words coming smoother now. She nodded but kept her distance. He poured water into a cup and slid it across the counter. "Hot today?" he asked, remembering the phrase from yesterday. The woman blinked, surprised. "Yes, very hot," she answered. Three words back. More than usual. Thornan's heart lifted. He pointed to himself. "I... learn... speak." The woman's face softened slightly. "You're doing well," she said slowly, and left a coin on the counter. After she walked away, Thornan repeated her words under his breath. "You're doing well." Four new words to remember. This was how trust started—one small conversation at a time. The afternoon sun beat down harder, and fewer people stopped at the bar. Thornan noticed customers squinting and hurrying past. He needed shade—more than the small cover over the counter could provide. He walked through the market until he found what he needed. The elegant patio umbrella stood taller than him, its bright canopy wide enough to cover several benches. He carried it back and set it up near the drinking area. The shade spread across the ground like a cool pool. Within an hour, a family sat beneath it. A small child pointed at Thornan's horns but didn't cry. The mother said, "Thank you for the shade." Thornan smiled and repeated the phrase carefully. "Thank you for the shade." Five more words added to his collection, and one less frightened face.