“She.” What they make of it'll likely depend on how versed the creature is in human expressions, but they're treated to Rust trying to fit things together in front of them. It's not particularly dramatic—a shift in attention, inward, the shadow of a frown crossing his features—but it's the least in control of his expression he's been since the conversation began. “So that was business as usual, hmm? With the crabs.” His gaze snaps to the creature's face, its tiers of opaque eyes. The intensity lets up gradually, as if Rust has to force himself to tone it down.

“She get in your pack's heads?”