The yips and squeals of the whelps outside is what rouses Eidolon from his slumber. One long, pointed ear twitches, then he cracks open a single eye, then forces the other open as well. He yawns, pushing himself up to overhear the chirps and whistles of the whelps and the strange speech and laughter of their assigned Researcher, groggily looking for his translator collar to fasten around his neck.

Of course it's on the other side of his hollow.

Eidolon stretches, pushing himself up onto his feet to grab it. His tail sweeps across the patch of dried grasses that he slept on as he fastens the collar around his neck, rearranging them into more or less a pile for the next night.

After one more cursory glance around the hollow carved into the rock face that he slept in, Eidolon steps outside, shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun with one hand.

The land of Algedonics is a small outpost in L'Hatzif, still in its founding days - there was almost nothing here but a few tents, a pen to eventually hold a herd of shriiv, a rudimentary building that the Researcher stayed in, and the beginnings of a small farm. The Researcher, who went by Casey, had built a raised garden bed and an irrigation system to feed into it, keeping the soil consistently moist under the heat. A few plants were already well on their way to growing, which would make the daily tasks of foraging enough to feed a burgeoning colony much easier.

As Eidolon steps out into the clearing, the whelps in the middle of it pause in their play-fight to look up at him, whistling their good mornings before going back to their scuffle. Neither of them had names yet - Casey hadn't assigned them any, just giving them their assigned numbers, and they seemed to be just fine with that until adulthood - so it was 0665 who had 0479 pinned to the ground with his front legs. Six Sixty-Five bit Four Seventy-Nine's throat, pinning him to the ground for a count of three, until he let go and both whelps scrambled up to their feet again. The chase began anew, both of them yipping as they play-fought, dipping between Eidolon's legs in their rapid zig-zagging across the earth.

Eidolon snorts his caution, a 'hey, watch where you're going', before approaching Casey to say his good mornings, bowing his head. They reach up to scratch behind one ear, which makes his tail flick in contentment.

'Good morning,' the translator says in lieu of his whistles.

"Mornin'," Casey replies, pausing to reach up with their other hand to rub at both ears simultaneously. Eidolon feels like he could melt into their lap, letting his eyes drift shut for a long moment. Casey was a strange human, as far as he could tell. They only had one eye, and could communicate with him whether the translator was active or not. They could stand on their legs, but spent most of the time sitting in a chair with wheels that they pushed to move. They said it was because they were in a lot of pain. Eidolon doesn't really understand, but Casey was kind and resourceful, and they had been given the task of founding the colony, so...

'Need any help?' Eidolon whistles as he picks his head back up, his gaze sweeping over the small patch of land. Casey glances back up at him, rubbing at their chin with one hand.

"The mycelium spores grow real thick 'round these parts," they sigh, running their fingers through the soil in the raised bed to till it. "I'm wondering if we can't cultivate some mushrooms here specifically to eat."

'Like the ones underground?'

"Exactly! I could keep 'em in my trailer so they don't get too much sun, but they don't grow to unmanageable levels either." Their gaze trails up to one of the giant fruiting bodies that shades L'Hatzif. "Let 'em get that big and they turn woody and gross, but if we keep them real little..."

Eidolon follows their gaze, nodding thoughtfully. He pauses.

'I'll take the whelps to gather spores from one of the large mushrooms.'

"Thank you! That'd be a big help. Be careful transporting them," Casey warns, patting his shoulder. The sound is solid against his flank.

Eidolon nods, letting out a sharp whistle to 0479 and 0665. It carries across the air easily, and both poke their heads out from behind the rocks they had hidden behind. The whelps scramble back into their dens to grab baskets for the day out foraging, and Eidolon nudges Casey goodbye with his snout. After gathering his own basket, he chirps for the whelps once more, and they all set out across the rocky land for the nearest mushroom spire.