Swiftcurrent Creek disappointed people clinging onto bottles

Oh, god, she'd already hurt this poor girl's feelings.
The crestfallen look she gives Wren is enough to tug at anyone's heartstrings. She swears she can hear a sad violin in the background. Softening, she clumbers a little bit closer, tail lowered. It's okay, dude, a pitiful attempt at reassurance with a dimpled smile that hopefully makes up for the awkwardness. herons don't have a lotta meat on 'em anyway. And they're wicked finnicky. Hate the stupid bastards.
A puff of air from her nose, then. I'm sorry if I, um, scared you. I don't think we've spoken before, curiously, her eyes raise enough to make contact with her's. I'm Wren, resident Gamma to the pack of assholes.