Swiftcurrent Creek And I can't help you fix yourself

Her softened body language had the desired effect; he stepped back, and she watched him with a bombastic side-eye, before she lunged forward, slipping lightly as she snatched the bird, and then scrambled back a few paces so she might avoid a swipe if he'd been trying to trick her. Nothing came but words, though, an olive branch. 

Cygnet regarded him, her breath fanning the bird's feathers in soft puffs; giving it the illusion that perhaps with her touch it had been resurrected. Her gaze found his, and she searched his face for any sign of sarcasm or intensity. Finding nothing there, she huffed, rolled her eyes so hard it was practically audible, and began to prance off- with the intention of presenting the bird to Arlette herself.