She looked over his face, seeing not the scars or the wounds that he bore physically, but the burdens so clearly on his shoulders. He was frightened, that much was clear by his eyes. But there were wounds within his soul. Pain and anger, suffering and need. They were plain and bright, calling to her gentle nature and natural kindness to offer whatever balm she could.

"It is alright." She murmured to him, caressing his cheek gently. It was strange, but all at once, she was protective of him. Nurturing even. To a man that she did not know at all or know the name of. It didn't seem to matter. He needed her and she would shelter him. "Will you not speak to me?"