"That they are," Ishiah agrees, carefully curling his tongue and whistling to the nearest bird, who hops closer by a step or two and chirps in return, still too shy to come into actual contact as he pecks through the grass for remaining crumbs. "Singing is a wonderful indicator, for those birds inclined to do so. Barring that, the movement. In the same way that people have a spring in their step, so to speak, birds are capable of the same."

Letting his gaze sweep over the island, as though to draw quick comparisons between this place and the high, towering buildings of New York, Ishiah nods slowly. "If New York would make you feel caged, then may I ask— how does this place make you feel?"