He listens, though she doesn't say much. Good. He likes that. And she doesn't truly need him, does she? He presses his paw down into the snow. The cold should stem the blood. "Good," he comments to her being fine, though there's not much warmth in the statement. More, a realization that he's not needed. He could wander on.

But she asks him about dreaming, and then about the world. He stares around, feeling as if he knows this. Has always known this. And yet, it is foreign to him.

"Yes? No?" He doesn't answer the question about dreaming. Mostly, he doesn't dream. But this dream had felt so visceral, so clear... And yet, so distant at the same time.

"This is Terra," he states after a moment of consideration. "I have been here, and I have not." He stares down at her, impassive, distant. "You don't look to be a daemon." And if she said otherwise, he'd kill her. It would be his sacred duty.