A brief brush of his gaze over the young woman— or perhaps girl would be more accurate, if not for that aged look in her eyes, like someone who's been forced to grow too much, too fast, too thoroughly in ways that no one from Lima can really ever know— lands his eyes on the splash of crimson over her hands, and Kurt's eyes immediately flutter to a close. He feels the blood drain from his face and tries to fight the nausea down, but if there's anything that he knows, it's that animals die and are butchered all the time. And he shouldn't resent it. And if he plans, indeed, to make his way easily around an island where most of their food sources are hunted down on a daily basis, then he'd better start sucking it up now and dealing with the sight of carrion.

"I'm more inclined to think that it's probably a metaphor, but god only knows we've had plenty of bloodshed among our race over the years," Kurt exhales softly, before walking closer, frowning at the sand before he attempts to lower himself down without getting too much stuck to his clothes. "But even if there really was this kind of hanging tree, that doesn't make the choice of song any less morbid, does it? It's a shame to use a nice voice on that."