D'athe squawked indignantly, scrambling behind a shelf, peering out around it at Jack.
Hey! He laid his ears back, hissing at Jack's gun. I don't like being shot at! Bullets are hard to dodge.
He shifted on his feet, nervous. And I'm not in your head, I'm in mine. I just can't talk like you do, my vocal set up is all wrong. He let out a high-pitched chirp to demonstrate, as he pulled back into the shelter of the shelf again. Promise you won't shoot me, please?