[For what it's worth, the bird can't read his thoughts or anything of the kind, only project its own. Chill out, Black, it's not in your head, at worst it's standing outside the metaphorical window yelling things up at your balcony.

The bird tilts its head this way and that: it's apparently taking it a bit to understand what Black means. Look, it's a bird, ok. Deciding that Black seems to mean something good, though, it turns around, fiddles within the corpse for a bit, then jabs its beak in sharply. Then it turns back and walks over to Black again, offering him... a spleen! It's even whole! That's not easy to get out, you know, you have to nudge other things aside first.

The mental input this time is, once again, almost childlike joy. The bird is pretty happy! It's having fun and Black is possibly friend.]