He was, in fact, about to touch that. It's not his fault, though, Sanguinius was trying to walk in the garden to clear his head, and to maybe stop thinking about his, er, less socially acceptable nutritional needs, when zzzzzhhwip! The thing had flown within inches of his face. He had squatted down to study it, curious, having to tuck his own wings tight against his back.

"Is it poisoned?"

That's a reasonable question.