Wilkins glanced about, but saw no obvious shelter apart from the biplane, and that was where the purple crab's territory. He gently touched Priscilla on the arm, to sooth her nerves and inflated his chest to make himself look larger and more incharge of the situation than he actually felt.
He coughed!
A second appendage, flexible and about the length of a man's forearm shot out from the crab and pointed in the direction of the noise. The tip of it glowed a dull orange.
Wilkins moved a two paces to the right. The appendage did not follow. He crouched down low, watching all the time. The crab stayed static.
Priscilla let out a low, relieved whistle. The appendage relocated to point precisely towards the place her breath had emerged from.

The crab repeated "Tell me of your songs..."