Deepwood Weald keeper

he does not startle when her eyes snap up—and he doesn't move, only watches, eyes remaining focused upon her. seeing the way she clutches the kill like she means to die with it. she is young, maybe even wild.
his head tilts slightly at her voice. the same foreign tongue he kept encountering, quick and smooth. are... hungry—he knows the shape of that word. he’s heard it enough to place it, even if the rest swims in his ears.
when she suddenly moves and exclaims, the man takes a step back—wide in berth, his eyes widening briefly in both alarm and surprise. exclaiming that she needs help.
he is slow to respond, looking her once over. þū wilnast fultomes?