[Clint manages to sit a little more upright, rubbing his eyes and eyeing the toxic puddle of goo on the ground. How old is this kid, anyways? Can't be any younger than thirteen or so.]

Well, maybe you've gotta convince it that you're worth listening to in the first place. What have you done so far?

[The Rowlet nesting in Clint's hoodie squirms her way out and flutters down, hopping over to inspect it. She gently pecks at the ground. Clint frowns.]

Fletcher, leave her alone.

[After a moment, she hoots at the Nidoran, fluffing up her feathers, as if asking, "What's wrong with them?"]