East and Aloft are the noisiest of the goslings, though Aloft hasn't come into its full-throated honk yet, at only a little more than a month old. It tries, though, and it's trying now, head turned towards the door and shouting as best its small lungs can manage, a treble note above East's honking.

"What's wrong?" he asks them, looking up from the couch he'd been sprawled on as four of the goslings run past him for the door. He's still feeling sore and not quite as strong as he should, after the mutts' attack, but this is a potential threat to his ... well, home, really, or temporary home, anyway. He gets up, reaching into his pocket for his knife, just in case, and heads for the door.

No sign of anyone on the porch when he opens the door just enough to peer out of. As he steps outside, though, there's the sound of a voice coming from ... where? Nearby.

Aloft has ideas other than letting Finnick work it out, and the little goose runs out of the door and down the steps before Finnick can stop it, followed quickly by a couple more of the little ones.

They're very interested in the ground next to the porch, and Finnick keeps his hand on the knife, flicking out the blade as he crouches down, peering in the same direction as the geese.

"Jyn?"

He takes a step back, closing the knife-blade. "What are you doing there?"