Aloy crouches down next to the man, emboldened by his hands-on approach. If it's rude to manhandle someone's funerary vessel, well, at least she's not the only one doing it. Tilting her head, she runs her fingertips along the shallow cuts along the side of the coffin.

Scratches. Claw marks. From someone trapped inside...?

"No one dead, anyway," she says, voice low. If this was some kind of way to surreptitiously transport living people... for what purpose? Slavery? "Are there any bodies in the coffins?"