At least she spoke English. Cross slowly pulled his other hand from the tree trunk and used it to fold the blade of his knife in. Once he'd done that, he put it back into his pants pocket, watching her intently all the while. He had no doubt that he was a frightening sight between his height and breadth, the vivid scar visible on his neck and the missing two fingers-- not to mention the knife. He took a few seconds to process the fact that she didn't seem to know where they were, either, then answered her question very briefly. "Name's Cross. You?"
He was the soul of brevity, as always, even when tossed into this completely foreign situation.