If anyone were around to watch the shore right at this moment, they would see a solitary, reddish-brown and vaguely canine, head, protruding through the surface of the water, zipping out of the distance to approach the shore at an absurd clip. Fortunately, the head - travelling fast but smooth, leaving an admirably discreet wake - swivels and scans the shore with terribly sharp eyes that (the head is confident) could pick up any biggish creature not trying deliberately to conceal themselves, and those eyes see no one at all.
The speeding head - whose name is Tollee - vanishes just a few feet shy of the strange pile of brightly colored slats and things heaping up out of the water. It rises, spluttering and accompanied by half the body of a patchy-reddish ferryshaft, which, with its legs fully submerged, resembles a large but underfed wolf with enough giraffe heritage to be noticeable if you look twice.
Of course, Tollee thinks, re-scanning the trees, there could be intelligent creatures here much too small for me to notice even if they're being flagrant. It's not as though every squirrel- or bird-sized creature could possibly set off my DANGER! sensors. I'm too used to those sounds. Not that I've ever heard of an intelligent creature being that small, but there's no reason a species like that shouldn't be able to exist. But Tollee was repeatedly and (she hopes), expertly instructed by Tuvien that humans are almost as tall as ferryshaft, if much slighter. She would have noticed that. She's safe. Or, rather - she glances back over the water, feeling a pang of guilt and gratitude - Tuvien is.
Tollee surveys the hulking pile of - what materials are those, exactly? She has no idea - beached on the shore. Unnaturally flat, eerily regular, vaguely reflective. The sheen and variety of insane colors reminds her of the human paintings from Kuwee, only solid colors (well, they look to have once been solid - now the thing is heavily chipped and flaking) rather than being used to make images. Tollee ponders what the purpose of covering . . . whatever this is . . . in paint could possibly have been, and quickly gives up. She gets the feeling that she's about to encounter a lot of inexplicable alien accoutrements over the next period of her life, and suppresses the rising sense that she may be out of her depth here. Speaking of. She maneuvers around the heap to rise out of the water fully, shaking herself, deer-long legs dramatically extending her apparent height, single-toed hooves sinking not unpleasantly into the rocky sand.
Well. Time to go and find some humans.
A very careful visual sweep of everything she can see from her current position reveals only two sure signs of human presence. One is the path leading uphill into the surrounding forest, which is raised above the ground and seems to be built in the same way as the ship, only unpainted. The other is a very unnatural display of glittering . . . crystals? . . . high up on the mountain ahead. To be visible from this far down, the crystal structure must be not just distinctive but, for an artificial construction, enormous. She supposes that by that standard the pile of rubble in front of her is enormous, too, it's just not so weird. Tollee does not shiver. No point getting spooked now - for several reasons. She'll find her humans, and if this is the only lead she has, she'll find her humans by this lead.
Tail and head held high, she trots up the thunderclap-loud and echoey human path - okay, no, on the soft quiet soil alongside the human path, for as long as possible! - into the shadowy, humid forest.