As foreign to Whitby as the delicate thing that approached him, if not even more so -- Malachi could recognize when someone needed help. He needed it often enough himself, each time he was relocated from one place to the next. For that reason, his confusion with the vague, attempted signs was only brief, and he stepped aside so as not to block the open doorway.

"You're welcome to come inside," offered Malachi, hoping that he had at least caught the gist of what they'd meant. Leaving the door propped open, he turned to enter the nave himself, and gestured for the foreigner to follow him.

"Do you speak English?"

He hadn't heard them speak, nor could he immediately tell if they had any other issue speaking. Whatever the case, he'd make do, if they were seeking something from him. Malachi returned his gaze to them, calm and patient; the antithesis of the youth's colorful and spirited demeanor.