Oh. He didn't like that. Well, he does look to be at that age where boys like to pretend they don't need looking after, even if they probably do. Perhaps she's slighted him.

Or perhaps it's more than that. It's hard to get a good look at him in this poor lighting, and it's hard to judge what's normal when you're both from different worlds... but he does have a sort of rangy, stray-cat look to him. As if he's used to not being cared for, to the point where even a kind word is regarded with wariness. Greta feels a sudden rush of sympathy for the boy. He's clearly not all right, and he just as clearly doesn't want her to pat him on the head and give him a biscuit.

So she folds her hands neatly and offers him a faint smile that she hopes he'll find bolstering. "I'm sure we'll be fine. The giant can't reach us here." After a beat, she tries, "You did well to make this staircase." She's grasping at straws, not quite sure what magic phrase will make him feel better, but she means well, and her gratitude is genuine.