[Erskine lets his bad arm fall back into place against his side in the sling and cradles the bird in his good hand--the chained one. He's utterly fascinated by the bird--both the nibbling at his fingers (which tickles like fury, thank you) and the fact that it talks. He laughs at the little creature, then shoots a half-arsed glare up at Skulduggery.]

For shame, Skulduggery. It wasn't hurting you.

[He lifts his hand, and the bird, up to eye level and coos at it.]

I think we've finally found Skulduggery's true calling in life, haven't we? Annoying, mobile bird cage.