Nerys' grip on the edge of the fountain eases a little as she finds some equilibrium, and she lifts an eyebrow at Finnick's first statement. It strikes her as odd, until she remembers human avian evolution didn't go down the same paths as that on Bajor. Lizards and birds didn't deviate quite as quickly, and their traits are pretty closely linked. "There are some birds back home that do change color," she says, "but definitely not like people change clothes. More just camouflage, I think you have amphibians that do that?"

She watches her new bird friend do a bit of a strut across the grass in front of the fountain. His gait is not entirely smooth yet, a little gawky, like he doesn't know where exactly his limbs are at any given time; basically, a bird teenager.

"There are people out there," she echoes, "who come from pretty much everything organic you can picture, and some inorganic structures, too. Our frames of reference are usually pretty different though, it can be kind of hard to bridge the cultural gaps the further you get away from beings with four limbs and a spine." There's probably some scientific term for that, but Nerys can't think of it off the top of her head. "You end up looking at the universe pretty differently."