Gyrfalcon's Keep Would you just come home

"Yeah, well," Wylla lamely fibbed with light gasps between each word, as if she wasn't able to handle Wraen's perfect kindness, "I'm not." In a way, she really couldn't handle the kindness of others. Lusca had been a kind enough mother, if a bit neglectful and naive in the ways of rearing, and Ingram wasn't exactly the most loving of brothers either. She'd never had the benefit of growing up with kind, selfless individuals—that upbringing, and being on her own so long, had bred Wylla into a selfish and uncompromising creature who covered up her insecurities with barbs.

But after a beat, presumably long enough for Wraen to decide that talking to such a guarded little thing was a bad idea, she loudly asked, "how do you get bird shit off your fur?" Because implying that another had had this problem and knew how to deal with it wasn't completely rude and unnecessary or anything. "Asking for a friend," she slyly tacked on, but we all know how that usually goes.