Do kobolds have the idea of places where it ought to be possible to find things? Like, everyone needs to be able to be sure that this item is in this location -

Yep, we keep communal stores of things. I don't think it's very likely that they'll decide you're just messy or confused or something and try to put everything back where they think it belongs, but it's possible. More likely they'll decide you're being antisocial, though, and that's harder to predict what they'll do with it.

No, I mean, can we explain that the current location of everything is where people need to be able to find it.

...might be able to convince them of that, if osanwë works. They still won't see any reason not to walk off with peoples' things, but they'll at least put them back when they're done with them.

Which should help a lot. Are they likely to damage them?

I don't expect so. They'll know that that's antisocial to do on purpose, at very least.

Then let's try that and see what problems arise.

All right.

I'm going to wait until tomorrow to offer the plant, is there someone with nice calm body language who can help me see if it works?

Sure. And he suggests someone.

Sounds good, thanks. Around midday seems like a good time, if that works, if not we can be flexible, I'll just need like an hour, hour and a half's warning.

That works. 

Thanks. I'll let you know how it goes. And she cuddles her companion.

In the morning they're a little better: still prone to crying jags and still jumping at every sound that might be the door opening, but when she teleports their breakfast in, they manage to calm down enough to eat.

Late in the morning, she gets the medical supplies out of the dresser where they're stored, and changes Tirinquo's bandage; their arm is healing well. Then she gets out the stress-plant - a coil of vine with distinctive yellow veined leaves - and plucks a trio of leaves from it to offer to them.

The brown kobold looks from the leaves to her face, and then to the door, and back to the leaves, wringing their hands.

She sits back down on the bed, leaves still held where the other kobold can easily take them, and looks pointedly at the door and hums, quietly but reassuringly.

This gets her a skeptical look, but after a minute Tirinquo takes the leaves and just looks at them, holding them loosely in their hands, and after another minute, they sigh and look at the door and start nibbling at them.

And when they're ready a nonthreatening Quendi will come in to say hello.

They don't panic when their host approaches the door.

They don't panic when she opens it.

They don't panic when she beckons to someone in the hallway.

They don't panic, but their eyes go wide, when the Quendi comes into view.

They don't panic at the osanwë, but they don't really get the idea, either.

What kind of thoughts are they having, are they readable?

They are readable, if not organized into anything even approximating words.

They miss their tribe, they want to go home, they can't - it hurts, it hurts, a deep bruising ache, not just something wrong but everything wrong, nothing ever going to be right again; they're going to die, they know that; they aren't scared of it right now but that's only one way it's awful and all the rest are still there, untouched, a barely-ignorable ball of misery in the pit of their stomach making them want to curl up in a ball and never move again.

They're not going to curl up in a ball and ever move again, though. They want to live. But the temptation...

The other kobold is a mystery and a touchstone: it's possible to live, here; they're doing it. They don't know how, or if they'll be able to do the same - speaker and mage and healer, really? how, why... - but - there's hope there, and comfort; they want them to be okay, and that's not the same as having their tribe (their tribe, their tribe), but it's something.

And now a new person. The other kobold invited them, and this one trusts them - well, they'd have trouble not doing that, right now, but, trusted them when they ate the plant, trusted them when they came back - this might kill them (just an observation, not scary to think about right now) but they at least trust that it'll be better than what would have happened otherwise, so, here they are. They had an impulse to greet them, and that's weird, why does that keep happening, they hope it stops - but it passed, and now they're not doing much of anything - waiting to see if they're going to panic, probably, but they're not; this is by any reasonable standard terribly dangerous, but they don't feel it, they can wait calmly and see what happens.

Shouldn't use osanwë, they experience it as impulses to do the thing we are sending. I think.

She sits down on the floor.

That'd explain the panic. Okay.

Tirinquo looks from the Quendi to the other kobold, unsure what's expected of them. She pats their hand reassuringly and slips off the bed to sit at the Quendi's feet - you can pet me, it'll probably help.

Tirinquo is conflicted, but stays put for now.

The Quendi pets her. 

She leans into it and closes her eyes. After a couple minutes, though, she opens them to check on Tirinquo and gives a questioning chirp.

Tirinquo starts singing, quietly, a simple tune.

They're asking if you're... friendly, more or less. Joining in tells them you are.

So the Quendi sings.

That sure is some singing.

Tirinquo joins them on the floor; the other kobold scoots over to make room.

The Quendi keeps singing.