The dark room beyond the door is a little intimidating. Part of Cricket is certain this is it, even if he's not clear on what the this part might be. He follows nonetheless, fidgeting with the flowers on his head nervously.

There's no smell of death or bones or blood. Just clutter and a little smoke and cushions all over. When he realizes it's a giant nest, Cricket almost wants to laugh out loud with relief, but instead he just catches his breath in a gulp of air.

And then the Magpie is digging around the next, pulling out pillows and blankets and...

And he's making Cricket a miniature nest of his own, right next to him.

This is not a terror-god. This is a giant floofy bird that's just trying to get by in a world full of humans that want something from him. Cricket breaks into a smile and sets his bag and crutches down, coming over to settle into the mini-next. "Thank you," he says.

Normally he wouldn't be going to bed at this hour, but it occurs to him the Magpie did say he wanted sleep, and most birds do bed down at dusk. He'll adapt. He sinks onto his side, resting his head on one arm and looking over at his host. "This is actually really soft," he sighs and stretches a little. "I can make you breakfast in the morning, if you want." Assuming he has food to cook.

"What should I call you, sir?"