There is a thump and the sound of a struggle as the girl scrambles towards the other box, likely to put herself between Garamond and the boy, though there is little her body could hide from him, a little she could bar him from. Unfortunately, the crates are rather large, and she is yet still rather small, and in her clumsiness, she trips over the edge of the box before she gets anywhere. Thankfully, she manages not to smash her face into anything on the way down.

In the meantime, the question directed at him seems to wake Evan up, and he cracks open his eyes, turning slowly to the stranger. The light behind the large silhouette is blinding, and he winces at first. "¿Quién es el hombre? ¿Un enemigo? ¿Quiere matarnos?" It is foreign in tongue, evidence of their upbringing. Only in the niches of the ghettos and slums did the old ununified dialects still persist, passed down from parents to children. Often, the single family would be the only ones in the entire neighborhood to understand it.

By then, Viana manages to get back to her feet. "I don't think so," she answers, more understandably. She eyes Garamond suspiciously, but not entirely as antagonistically as before. "My brother is hurt," she tells him. "Can you help us?"