"Are you? My dear." Because yes, that tone is flat, so dry. A rasp of wind on these dry stones. In response, she croons, her voice warm and clicking in the echo of where sound doesn't form quite right inside of her mouth as it would were she strictly human.

Her hand lifts, beckoning him forwards, closer towards her. The slow deliberate movements, where he could see them, perhaps even meant to be reassuring. Though the opposite was more likely. "You do not look well to receive this invitation. Do not tell us you have forced yourself to see us."