Oh, are we very concerned about this being uncomfortable for Thot? The lines around his eyes crease a little tight beneath a pinch at his brow, timed near perfect to the plop of damp crystal to palm.

“It isn’t.”

Indeed, past the flex and reset of her beak, the finch seems happy to wing from Silas’ open hand to the high turn of his collar. He tucks the crystal away behind his lapel while she preens.

“Keep her warm and avoid crushing her to death and she will be fine.”