Nothing he said mattered, because the consort would not understand. Larus only caught on to this when the man spoke in his own language - sounds he did not recognize in his own lexicon. It was the language that he overheard the sisters using between one another, the one that apparently everyone recognized and understood, except for himself. But the linguistics of the Sound did not concern Larus; he waddled about Spyridon as if to inspect him.
The man seemed to be alright. There was no blood, and any pain that he felt was well hidden from the child's perception. Spyridon's voice made his ears turn and his head tilt, though, as confusion dominated. What?
The boy blinked dumbly up at the adult, and his face creased with a frown. You're OK? Right?
His eyes glossed over suddenly, for Larus realized he had caused this. Whatever hurt the man felt, it was because of him. Its my fault! I'm sorry!