"It's your quail." She uncovers it; it's a tiny bundle of white fluff with a splotch of grey on the back, peering quizzically around the room.

That is...very small. And absolutely adorable. And the idea of being responsible for something so small is terrifying. She still takes another step closer to Daisy.

Daisy holds it out to her. "It's a boy, they're easier to take care of."

She reaches out to cautiously take the quail, her hands shaking very slightly.

"Peep!"

He's loud, for such a tiny thing.

She jerks back slightly, but is very careful not to drop him. She resettles herself, biting her lower lip slightly, before cupping one hand so he's less likely to fall off, and running her index finger very, very gently down her back.

He blinks up at her and tries to hide under her hand.

She smiles very slightly, and ducks a little cupping her hand a little to provide a shelter for him. "Hello," she murmurs. (It's pretty clear that she is utterly enchanted.)

He hides in the deepest part of the provided shelter and peeps at her again.

I'll go bring in his cage so you have someplace to put him when you're done introducing yourself, Pradnakt sends, similarly charmed. (Good call, she signs to Daisy.)

She gets a slightly distracted: Thank you.

Rhoda moves her hand just enough that she can gently stroke his back without removing the shelter. (She understands needing a place to hide.)

He makes a quiet clucking noise and snuggles against her finger a bit.

She presses her lips together to restrain the delighted sound that wants to escape, that is too cute. She pulls her hands slightly closer to her chest, but otherwise, doesn't really move - apart from a very slight rocking motion.

He nestles into the palm of her hand and clucks quietly to himself.

The cage is a small one, just over a foot square, with window-screen sides and a hinged lid, already supplied with a thin layer of wood shavings. Pradnakt sets it down on the bench next to her, lid open, and puts the cage accessories - a couple of hides and bowls for food and water - on the table nearby.

Making sure not to jostle the chick in her palm, she moves closer to the table to take a closer look at the stuff. She's obviously confused as to the exact purpose, although she can get an idea of it.

There's a plastic half-sphere with a half-circle hole cut out of the rim, and a long arch made of sticks bound together with wire, for the chick to hide in. The food bowl is a straightforward shallow circular tray, but the watering dish is more complicated; an upended bottle serves as a reservoir for a set of four tiny water troughs in the base.

..She doesn't have enough hands. She frowns slightly at the watering dish, wanting to get a closer look at it, but also not wanting to rob the chick of his shelter. She looks between her hands and the watering dish and finally manages to decide that she's not ready to put him down or take away his shelter just yet.

"How does it work?" she asks.

"The bottle keeps the water clean, and it comes out here, a little bit at a time," Daisy points to the relevant bits as she explains. "Do you want me to set it up for you?"

She listens and watches as Daisy explains, but hesitates for a little at the question.

She was supposed to be helping look after- But Daisy offered. And she could still watch, and know what to do next time. "Please?"

Daisy nods, and unscrews the bottle from the base to take it to the sink to fill it, and then lets Rhoda watch as she puts it back together and sets it and the other things in the cage. "The food is still with the speeder, I'll be right back."

"Thank you," she says, running over the motions again in her head to make sure she remembers them. She ducks her head down again slightly, smiling at the chick nestled in her palm. It's terrifying, in an almost exhilarating way, to be responsible for something so small, so fragile. (What if she harms him? She silently resolves to make sure she doesn't.)

And a minute later she's back with a bag of pellets. (Pradnakt follows with a bin of machinery and heads back out immediately.) "He's probably hungry, do you want to put him in the cage or see if he wants to eat in your hand?"

"He would do that?" she asks, bright and eager, but abruptly she frowns, looking down at her hands. "Do you think he would be happier if we- I put him down?" She doesn't want to distress him.

She squats down to peer into Rhoda's cupped hand, where the chick has settled between her fingers. "He looks pretty happy where he is, I bet he'd eat there. It might tickle - feel strange - though."

She relaxes slightly again. "I think I want to try it?"