Hushed Willows that's nice, that's a nice sentiment

Buchanan hadn't meant to startle her and when it was apparent that he had — displayed by the tension in her shoulders, her wild gaze as it settled upon him, and the hiss of breath she released when she realized it was him — his ears slicked back to rest against his crown, his steps faltering at the contemplation that his presence was unwelcome. She had not greeted him with aggression or hostility but he had came to expect such after years with The Officer. “No, no,” The assassin corrected her with a shake of his head and a tentative step towards her. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

She responded that she would love company and his docked tail gave a few wags, his ears slowly rising from his skull as he moved closer with more confidence, though he remained hyper-vigilant to her reaction to his proximity, ready to back off if it appeared unwelcome in any capacity. “Which reminds me,” Buchanan breathed with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he joined her patrol. “Congrats on becoming Beta. I think that calls for celebratory, extra special bird feathers.” He informed her with gusto. Something exotic. Exquisitely pretty, with a multitude of stunning colors. A songbird, perhaps. “pevchaya ptitsa,” Buchanan murmured to himself in affirmation, unaware that he'd said it out loud (or that he slipped into his native tongue), as he contemplated the songbirds he'd seen thus far in Teekon Wilds and which one would be the best to present her with for the occasion.