He shrugs. "Okay."

They start flying down past various fortifications and weapons. There's a railway line running almost right up to the largest set of walls. The redheaded one eagerly and rapidly explains the concept and operation of things as varied as trains, artillery, signal flags, and dive-bombing as they descend.

He is delighted by the explanations and follows along very well.

"Quick study! Maybe you could help on attack runs. You're faster than us, which could be big, but I'm leery of making you the centerpoint of some crazy bold plan without getting to know you and what you can do more, and vice versa."

"Yeah, makes sense. I'm happy to hang back and learn things first. Oh, and - my name's Tiro."

She nods at him. 'Still flying' is not an ideal situation for handshakes. "Gren."

(Her nametag says Grendyne Nylund. The others also have tags, on closer inspection.)

He nods back. (The nametags will have to wait until he learns to read.)

They fly into a very large building full of hundreds of little cradles designed to hold their flying-things and are directed via flag to a particular set.

"Chatterbox just told me, if you're willing to not get in the way the generals will let you stand near all the other aides in the telephone building, listening. Since there's not any obvious better place for you to try and learn ten languages at once."

"That sounds good."

Huh, that smile. She doesn't often see, well, anyone in a context that registers 'cute guy: possible flirting or romance'. Goes to show how much of her has gone into the Witch Wings.

No time to think about that.

"Alright then. I'll lead the way while the rest of my squad goes on rest for the big strike. And sorry for the rough welcome. I want to talk to you some more when we're all less, hm, busy."

"That sounds good too!" he says cheerfully.

She doesn't have places to be other than 'resting up for the big attack'. And flying over to the telephone building doesn't have to be as fast as possible. They can make way for other air traffic even when it's not strictly necessary.

"So, I can sense magic, and sometimes copy it, can break curses once in a while. So far you're inimitable but I might get something similar if I stare at you for long enough." What a choice of words. "Er. Where'd you get cursed, or am I bringing up bad memories by asking?"

"A - I don't know the word - an athra did it," he says. "I don't even know if you have athrai here. You have way different magic, it looks like."

"We're Witches. Here, sometimes, randomly as far as anyone can tell, little girls turn out to have magic. We all get a basic package- flying, shields, blasting things- and one specialty. Mine's copying. Chatterbox can speak at range, you heard her earlier, Sparky does lightning... All sorts."

"Athrai aren't human or much like humans. They can be any shape they want and they have lots of magic. Sometimes they curse people, sometimes they - opposite of that, sometimes they make magic things like this thing I have for flying. But they almost never kill anybody. Someone tried to trick an athra into killing me with a curse, and instead, this."

"That's... Strange. Opposite of curse would be a blessing, I suppose? Possibly charm or enchantment? Those words don't come up outside fiction, here. Magic items, though, that's interesting. Witches can't make magic items, there's a few old legends about them and my old commander insisted that her clan banner gave battle-luck, but nothing provable."

They're almost to the telephone building.

"Athrai make magic items sometimes! Not a lot, but sometimes! My family has a bunch, my - country - has a bunch more. I, uh, borrowed this one, from the family, I wanted to try flying. Slept in a tree, woke up on the ground with the spider things. No idea what happened in between."

"Too bad I wasn't there to see it happen. Spontaneous world-hopping sounds like some strong magic. We do have teleporters who can maybe find your world, but they're in immense demand by the war effort. We'll have to see if we can get one for you. Anyway, here's the place."

She talks to a guard briefly, and the guard then turns and asks Tiro to follow him to the main hall of the building.

Tiro is happy to follow the guard.

Here is a large room full of at least a hundred uniformed people, mostly young men, talking in the advertised ten languages! Mostly transferring status updates, connecting phones to each other via massive boards of wires, relaying new orders. It's a busy place and the atmosphere is tense, but everyone knows their job and the overall effect is that of a well-oiled machine. Tiro can stand in the red-outlined area, where a bunch of people are assigned to stand and wait for someone to ask for something, typically fetching parts.

Tiro is small and does not take up very much room. He tucks himself into a particularly out-of-the-way part of the red-outlined area and shuts his eyes and listens as hard as he can and drinks in all the languages.

...Soon, all the orders coming through are variations on 'aim at this place, prepare to enter full battle at the signal, good luck'.

He wishes he could help, but - this is how he's helping, learning ten languages is useful.

Things become a lot busier over the next few minutes. And the slightly distant thumping of artillery swells into a steady rumble without pause. There's probably an opportunity to use his newfound language skills somewhere... 

Like that phone operator desperately trying to explain something in English because the only Ostkav-speaking man in his section is busy trying to convince a panicked second-in-command officer to hold the line despite the loss of his boss.

...yep. Tiro can help with that.

He darts over and says, "I speak Ostkav."