Another mouthful of not Greek. The nymph is beginning to wonder how many tongues are spoken in this strange place, but the words are not what's important, now. No, it's the tone of the young man's voice, and his expression. Another lost soul.

Shaking her head sadly, she gestures to his mouth, then her head, and gives a helpless shrug.

"I do not know your tongue," she says slowly, in case that might help. A graceful hand makes an expansive gesture, encompassing the docks and the bustling crowds. Her other hand holds her device and map almost carelessly; she doesn't know what they are. "I believe I am lost, and you might be, too."