So it turns out Oleander has decidedly a weird metric for what delight actually means... that's just fine, Remi meets that innocent look with a flat one of his own, before he focuses on the bird stuff.

And of course it would be too much to ask Oleander to, hm, stay quiet while they wait for the bird. Remi sighs and answers, his voice pitched low, "Around five, I think. Maybe a few more. Now, shut up and don't move."

Because the bird has hopped down one branch... and as long as they stay silent and still, it'll fly to the ground, its orange beak standing out against the black feathers, pecking at the seeds.