They might also be looking at her like there's something strange about her. Other than not being three glass plane bird people.
“Do you need any help?”
“I don’t know. You're out here alone and there's nothing wrong with that but I can’t even ping you. You're wearing damaged cloth. Are you stranded?”
“Well, yes, uninhabited islands are no place to be visiting without a radio. If you're hiding the rest of you somewhere on the other side of the island or something, then I guess that's fine and I'll leave you be. But it looks like you could be in a lot of trouble and I don't want to leave a person to starve or something.”
The glass-plane-bird-people-person are quite sufficiently distracted that they aren't practicing their symmetry very much. The one in the middle, who is still speaking, demonstratively waves a white glass wing — which becomes transparent, loses its shape, and falls to the rock in a gloopy kind of way, leaving behind a human arm.
The rest of the glass follows, and there is a perfectly ordinary human being standing between two glass plane bird people. Still looking confused about why this maybe-stranded-or-something-stranger person is confused.
“Sure! The first thing is, um—”
(He needs a lesson plan, doesn't he. He doesn't exactly remember how this was explained to him all those years ago. Compose reference request; subjects: kored & (parenting | primary education); format: split attention-friendly; preparation if needed: yes; urgent: yes; transmit. He'll live with someone maybe asking why he needed it. Later.)
“Do you have any tools with you? I mean, things that you hold in your hand, to do things with? I can give you something if you need it, but something you're familiar with using is better to start with.”
(He is so not qualified for this.)
“—I don't see why not,” he says, a little dubiously. “The usual sort of tool would be a thing you use to move other stuff that already exists separately, like a fork or a hammer. But it's more important that you are familiar with using it.”
“Okay, so what you need to do is use it, write with it. Then try to forget it exists. You're not writing with a pencil, you're writing on the paper. Because you are writing on the paper, you can feel the texture of the paper.”
He glances around. “And you need somewhere to sit down, don't you.”
More glass moves. Now there is: a patch of rock covered in clear glass, a chair seat formed of thousands of little glass tiles hovering above it, and a child's-height desk, also lacking in legs.
“Would you like shade? Or we could move into the forest, or go somewhere else, if you prefer. We’re going to be working on this for a while.”
Presumably realizing an explanation is needed: “Might as well collect the sunlight if we're going to bother stopping it. You'll want to learn this too.”
(This is all out of order, isn't it. Hurry up, lesson plan.)
“I don't know how long it's going to take you — usually children are taught how to try early and they get it as soon as they're practiced enough.”
“Well, give it a try, then.”
(He hopes she doesn't have entirely unreasonable success and, say, accidentally stab herself in the eye with the pencil. Most children are protected, but he doesn't know what's going on here and if she isn't it would be still be completely inappropriate for him to do it, regardless.)
(Oh, hey, there's that material on teaching basic life skills why is he having to do this he asked for. What does it say?)
He's still just watching, but now he knows what he's looking for.
(This is an unprecedented situation, but there ought to be something she will be able to notice and improve directly after at most twenty minutes more, and likely less if she's good at focusing on the work. He'd say so, but that would be a distraction.)