As soon as Luisa opened the nursery door, the winged girl sat bolt upright on the bed, scooting back into the corner. Her brown feathers flared as she hissed at Luisa, showing pointed teeth.

It wasn’t as unnerving now as it had been the first time.

“You don’t have to do that.” Luisa stepped into the room. The winged girl’s eyes followed her as she crossed the floor and set the tray on the bedside table. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

She picked up the spoon and held it out towards the winged girl, who flinched.

“It’s not a weapon.” Luisa tapped her fingers on the end of the spoon. “See? Not sharp. It’s for food. You know…” She waved a hand at the bowl on the tray and then rubbed her stomach. “Mmm, soup.”

The winged girl’s brow furrowed. Slowly she lifted a hand and rubbed her stomach, a halting imitation of Luisa’s movement. Right over the bandages wrapping her middle.

“That’s right. Food.” Luisa held out the spoon again. “Come on, you’ve gotta be hungry.“

The winged girl leaned forward, looking at the bowl. She sniffed the air a couple times before looking up at Luisa. Then she pointed at Luisa, and then at the bowl.

“It’s not poisoned or anything,” Luisa said. But she took a spoonful of soup and put it in her mouth. The winged girl watched her closely as she swallowed.

“See?” Luisa set the spoon down on the tray and went to sit in the rocking chair in the corner. “We didn’t take you in and clean you up just to kill you. So, you know… eat.”

She rubbed her stomach again and shrugged. The winged girl shrugged, too, and put her hand on her stomach, dragging her long nails across the bandage. Then she held out her other hand, palm down, and then palm up. After a pause, she turned her hand again - palm down, then palm up.

Luisa held out a hand and copied the gesture. “I don’t know what this means.”

The winged girl looked around the room. Then she picked up the spoon and held it to her side, right over the bandage. Her face screwing up in something like concentration, she slowly pulled the spoon away from her, and then pressed her hand over the bandage.

Like how Luisa had pulled the arrow out from her side, two nights ago, and then pressed her hand down over the wound.

Luisa suddenly found herself regretting her words, even if the winged girl couldn’t understand her. Someone who showed up in the dead of night with an arrow sticking out of her side had no reason to trust that Luisa wasn’t going to kill her.

The winged girl did the same palm down, palm up gesture again, staring intently at Luisa, and Luisa had a hunch that she was asking a question - “why are you helping me,” perhaps, or something similar.

But how could she answer?

On a whim, Luisa put a hand over her heart, and tapped her chest. It was something her mother did whenever someone thanked her, with an air of “it was nothing,” or, “it was the right thing to do.”

She had no way of knowing if it translated. But, slowly, cautiously, the winged girl dipped the spoon into the soup, and she began to eat.