Torin wordlessly holds out a hand, palm pointing outward at some rubble from either Doyle's rampage or the car's--it's hard to tell--and fires a blast of gold energy at said rubble. "I do have more than just a letter opener," he says mildly. "Calm yourself, Doyle."

Really, he should probably be more worried that a dinosaur might eat him, but no. The parrot is perfectly calm. Perhaps he has attained parrot zen at some point in his short life.