Hugh has little idea what a still really is or how it works, but he's nodding at the words as he follows the man, glancing over his shoulder every so often. Leaving the temporary safety of the shack is discomforting -- even though he knew he'd have to soon enough. He's probably bought himself a couple of days by coming out here instead of the nearest train station, because that's where they'll look for him first. But they'll no doubt be scouting these woods for him soon enough.

Once inside, the younger boy looks cautiously around, keeping an eye out in case he needs to try to make a run at any moment. The mention of food has him visibly perking up, though there's the fact that in order to eat, he has to let his bees out. And there's no way of knowing if this man knows what Peculiars are... He can't exactly outright ask. So he keeps quiet for a moment as he slips on the jacket that's tossed his way. It hangs off of his smaller shoulders and the sleeves fall past his fingertips, but it's warm and cozy, and a nice reprieve from the chilly morning air.

The direct question finally has him talking again, the boy looking up to the other. A name like Cricket isn't something he's heard of before, but he shows no sign that he finds it odd; Hughs find very little odd. He's simply grown up to be accepting of anything out of the "ordinary" -- or rather, with a different view of what ordinary even is.

"Hugh." He extends a hand to politely shake, sleeve falling back on his wrist. "Where... where are we? Which country, I mean."