As much as he knows Annie as well as he knows himself, the places her mind goes can still be unpredictable to Finnick. That she'd react badly to being dragged out of the arena they'd been in and dumped into this place would always have been likely, but he's not sure exactly which part of it is causing her to shrink away from sounds and cling so close to Finnick instead of taking up a defensive rearguard, which has become a normal pattern for them.

So he's not expecting the suddenly overwhelmed look on Annie's face when he mentions the birds' water. Often caring for the flock they'd raised from chicks together grounds her, but this apparently isn't one of those moments, and Finnick notes that he'll have to check the water once they've established that the house is safe, or at least secure.

His gaze goes from his study of Annie's face, back to the pen with most of the birds in it; East is still sticking close to Annie.

"It's our fence," he says, because that's obvious; the weave they'd rigged to make their fence sturdy and strong is easy to recognize, the knot on the fencpost closest the porch is exactly the same shape and size as it had been.

He glances back at Annie.

"We should check inside. Keep watch for me?"