more like wet willows

“Oh, I’m so sorry I got your name wrong!” Aster hid her face behind one wing, embarrassed as can be, and then chirped in further embarrassment when she realized the wolf probably didn’t mean her pronunciation but what she’d guessed about him.

“AHHHH I’M SO SORRY!” Aster chirped. She nosily fluttered her wings and jumped up—as if her actions could distract from her plight—and the feathers on her head stood up in abject mortification. “Um, I tend to run my beak when I get excited? Or curious? So, uh, I’m sorry if I offended you somehow, Hattori. But I guess you’re not terribly offended since you haven’t tried to attack or eat me or whatever weird claiming thingies the wolvies do whenever they’re, like, pissed at someone? AHH HERE I GO AGAIN, making assumptions about someone based on what little information I know about their species because blue jays and wolves don’t really talk, like, ever, right?”

Aster abruptly stopped talking. Her lungs ran out of air. She took the deepest breath she could to steady her nerves, then breathed out, and inhaled again. “OK! I WILL LEAVE YOU ALONE IF YOU HATE ME, THAT’S FINE, I HATE MYSELF SOMETIMES.”