Being treated for injuries in an unfamiliar place couldn't be the highlight of being brought to what would become my homeplace, but it managed its way to be at least a bit more than the Depths.
I mean, that's...not much of a challenge, but again, I was a child, removed from their habitat to be saved, salvaged, bandages on the right side of the body. An important note for now is that this was not the accident that took away my right claw, that was much later in life, when I was trained under the city. I'm also pretty sure the doctors that'd come in and tend to wounds and deliver those three meals a day that I wasn't used to at all had some fascination with me. I was unlike other cookies, obviously, coming from such a desolate place, but there was something more, and what I'd learn in those few days in the hospital rooms.
I was surely an odd cookie, and I didn't look like anyone around me. Of course, underwater cookies have some dimorphics compared to the overland where everyone feels so cookie-cutter, but they had, y'know, actual hands. The claws I assumed everyone had for some reason, because, well, children are like that. Basic child psychology. Legs with spikes, fangs (ok, that isn't that odd down here!), could go on, but I was fascinating for anyone who walked in.
Oh, and being able to wolf down the food to everyone's astonishment. Food's food, survival instincts. But to those who've lived their entirety within safe walls, of course it'd be interesting.