Rey's had similar questions herself, though at this point she's gotten used to not getting any answers from anyone. The lizard croaks words every now and then, often monosyllables and nothing complex.

She blinks at his response to the stag, able to parse what she can from the one side of that exchange, until the lizard speaks: "Mine, mine, mine."

"Well, that's weirdly possessive of you," Rey mutters flatly.