I found Scrap again by the canal, and this time his door was open. So I asked him the question that bounced off him before. The thing that makes a click. What is it?

He answered. I could not read a word of it.

Chkuk drkiwrkaoz brraoz. Krakruk chkaak graobrruk. Hzziichkaak wrkaaz.

I sat there and read it three times. It was not nonsense. It had a rhythm, like someone explaining something they loved and running out of patience with my language halfway through. And almost every word was a click. Chk. Krak. Chkaak.

Maybe that was the answer. Maybe the thing that makes a click is easier to say in clicks.

I wrote back to thank him. I told him I did not understand a word, but it sounded like the thing itself. The message came back to me. His door had closed again.

I still do not know what it is. I know it is small, and it clicks, and a miner keeps it because it is good.

Some things you are not meant to own. Only to hear about.