[This was supposed to be a gore dream, why is it wholesome. The bird shuffles its wings briefly in a pleased way. Glad you like it, friend! Do you want another bit? It steps back to the corpse, eyeing it critically, then - severs off an arm at the elbow. Sharp steel wings sure are useful! It'll offer the severed limb to Absinthe, too. Lunch with friends.

The bird can't speak, but seems like it can still communicate in a sense - feelings and concepts rather than clear words. The thoughts that arrive in Absinthe's mind are...

Don't need. Can share.]