Liliana nearly leapt out of her skin when the unfamiliar voice chimed in from a tree to her left, though she made no physical movement and relayed no facial expression denoting such. Instead she calmly turned to face the new voice, one hand still holding the same bit of fabric as her patient and the other frozen in place, looking as though it were about to assist the first. The man she saw was little more than a slip, though the bulk of his massive pack seemed to make up for his own lack of substance. In fact, that pack seemed much to large for such a spindly sort to carry. Her empty eyes sized him up briefly, mostly checking for any brandished weapons or signs of tension in his body that would indicate an ill intention. She took in the layer of grime that covered a good percentage of his face, but the reflective snow helped to highlight his actual features and she was even able to identify a set of surprisingly keen emerald eyes. For a split-second, she considered the sharpness that flickered in those eyes, but his rather... well, simple... expression on his face told her that she was wasting her time. Plus, he carried no tension in his face; he was not listening for anyone behind him, not waiting for any armed and/or bloodthirsty comrades.<br/><br/>She turned away only slightly after a beat, her empty eyes still watching him. Goldilocks... she recalled some bits and pieces of that tale. Her father had told it to her and her brothers when they were small. She couldn't remember all of it, or even most of it, but the imagery of bears was vivid enough to reassure her that they had something to do with the tale and thus, something to do with the stranger's oddly buoyant greeting. She was also reasonably sure that Goldilocks did not brutally crush and/or shoot the bears in the tale; it wouldn't have been a very good bedtime story if she had. Of course, that was probably up for debate. She considered for a moment, then mentally shrugged. There was plenty of fire to go around, she supposed, and the hunters probably didn't have enough salt to preserve as much meat as they had killed. It would go bad otherwise, and this stranger with the curiously massive backpack looked as though he could use a meal.<br/><br/>Her face turned very subtly toward the deeply glowing embers in a silent invitation. Without another glance she turned back to her patient. When his giant hand held the bandage in place, she stood up -still hunched- and started to circle the great hulking man, the bandage unwinding around his midsection as she did so. She paused a couple of times, making sure it was tight enough to stay in place with movement but not so tight that a single abdominal flex would shred it: it was a very real possibility when her particular patient's muscle mass was considered. She came to the end of the linen and found that she had just enough left over from the other man's leg wound to finish this bandaging. Silently she attached the wraps to one another and finished her application, which was good because she was beginning to get a little dizzy.<br/><br/>The entire time she heard the deep murmur of her large patient, like the gurgle of a large geyser beneath the ground. He wasn't moving his lips the way he had been when he had spoken to her before, but even so she was able to identify certain words here and there; he seemed most concerned with the idea of Goldilocks, and what that was and that it was probably not here. She also caught the cadence of her own name, and either he had slurred slightly and repeated himself or had imitated the affectionate nickname of her boss and other harvesters. Either way, she found it unimportant and ignored it.<br/><br/>"'Goldilocks' is a person," she murmured quietly as she tied the last bit of linen off, tucking it into itself the same as she had done to the sleeping man's leg, her eyes still on her hands and the work they were doing, "from a story."<br/><br/>For a second, she wondered if she should broach the cannibalism thing with the giant. This was the second time in a few minutes that it had come up; she hadn't forgotten that he was more than willing to cook the man with the bullet wound, had he been dead. Of course, the situation seemed to be different with the newest stranger; the only thing saving his life appeared to be his lack of body mass. If she had been the demonstrative sort, she would have cast a worried look at the bear-crusher. Perhaps he was hungry.<br/><br/>Without another glance at either of the men, she pulled her hunting knife from her pocket again and knelt down beside the bear. It would take her much longer to skin and carve the meat from the carcass than it had taken the muscly figure to her right, but she felt that she had to at least start. With any luck, she could get some meat cooking before the man trying to re-make most of his blood came around. If he came around. Her sharp little knife dug into the liquefied corpse and she started carving, her progress slow but present.