Considering in turn, he eventually judges, "No, I don't think so. You wouldn't have believed in potatoes." Nose wrinkling (not in distaste), "Chickens are flightless anyway. Nor do ducks have fur. Anou, those don't sound like very engaging myths."
Xel stares at him for a second, then says in an unchanged tone, "You see, Scraggly-san? This is exactly what I mean. You run before even looking, and so you live in a state of runniness, in a tunnel of blurred lines, with terror behind you and nothing in front. Don't you know that it's the running prey that predators will chase, just by instinct? He doesn't get eaten at all." This last is patently untrue; someone who makes himself conspicuous like that is obviously on the have-not end of the struggle and is going to get crushed. But, he supposes, not actually eaten with teeth.
"It's only cracked," he says impatiently. "Go on."