The trained doctor within him was paying close attention, taking in the details of all that she did in hopes of figuring out a diagnosis. Several possibilities swam within his head, and such failure to truly pin any one suspicion down had him reminded of Minka. There were no stakes for him within the woman before him, yet the memory of the fallen queen pained him still and drove him to not repeat such a mistake. Perhaps it was simply to ensure the safety of his company, perhaps it was fear of witnessing her death as he had Minka's, and perhaps it was simply to assure himself that he was capable and that what had happened with the matriarch had been out of his control. Whatever it was, it brought him closer still to the girl, concern evident within his glacial gaze.
He remembered too Draven's dehydration, and it was quite plausible that a rogue would fall victim to such neglect, but her words spoke to something else. Regardless, she was in no shape to hunt with him, and he would not allow her to strain herself further.
"Have you hit your head?" he asked her, eyes holding her features within them before looking elsewhere, scanning the area for a sheltered place within which she could rest. Luckily, the terrain was uneven with sparse, brittle brush, allowing for many makeshift hovels. In particular, he caught sight of a stone outcropping which fashioned as a lean-to against the wind, with a littering of autumnal debris beneath which would easily serve to help keep her warm.
"Come," he instructed, voice relatively kind but commanding all the same. The leviathan moved forward against the tide she had attempted to set in motion, walking past her toward the chosen shelter. His muzzle swayed toward the intended destination as his gaze flickered back to her face, hoping she would understand. "You need to rest for a moment, alright? I'll get us a meal, it's no trouble."