"No? Huh." This raven clearly understands him and can speak a little, even if it's unpracticed. Back where Julien is supposed to be there is a very obvious explanation. Somehow he's not confident it would fit here.

With the ease of practice he shifts his weight and stands on one spindly leg, using a clawed toe of the other like a finger as he writes, scratching, on the deck. To his pigeon eyes, sensitive to a very wide range of colors, his claw leaves faint lines on the surface, from the oils his body produces. He writes out a number, and watches the deck around it. Nothing happens. Julien sighs and sags in place. "You're probably not numbered, either."