"Hi. Hi." The tone is a near-perfect parroting of Dewey, happily repeating back the greeting.

Phalanx shuffles closer then, peering very closely at the tentacle moving across the duck's face, deep black eyes reflecting no light but still full of life. They watch as one particular sucker peels off of the side of Dewey's beak, and they reach up to poke one dirt-stained finger in the exact spot it had been.

"Neat."