As Rhonwen walked closer to the encampment, a dog started barking. Rhonwen tightened her grip around the hammer and tensed her arm, ready to fight, but then the figure in the sleeping bag rose and hushed the dog. Either they had managed to keep a pet, or they had trained a feral dog; either way, Rhonwen was impressed, and she relaxed her arm. This other person clearly had some skill of survival, to have a tamed dog. Keeper, then.
But, it was strange: they, shrouded in dark and light all the wrong ways, were just... Standing there. Doing nothing. It was like they had some sort of silent contest going on- and initially, Rhonwen wanted to win. But she didn't know what the rules were, or what determined the winner. So it was awful. It was a horrible excuse of a game, that people felt the need to play in this world that was strange enough without people making it even more weird. It wasn't like people were enemies; there was no need to prove themselves to each other.
"Y've uh dag," the blonde stated. It was unnecessary, but the woman's tongue was thick and heavy and foreign in her mouth. She hadn't spoken beyond grunts and cries of rage for at least days, possibly longer, and working words out was more difficult than Rhonwen would have cared to admit. Between the impediment of her unused mouth and her thick Irish accent, it would have been a wonder if the dark person ahead of her could understand her. She glared at the figure in front of her, worked up some saliva to roll around in her mouth and stretch her tongue, then leaned forward and spat it out. Alright. Try again. "Y've a daog." Dog still sounded weird, but at least she was more understandable. "An' y've m'naged t' keep it alave wi'ou' ea'in' i'. Y've food, 'en."
Well. Her intent wasn't exactly a meal, but food was just as good a starting point of something together as was anything. And anyways- Rhonwen was hungry. She hadn't exactly been successful in her scavenging today, and could use a meal or two with this stranger.