He might try and move, but the hand on his shoulder will hold him in place: not a hard squeeze, just an implacable force. When Bull blinks, slumps, leans forward, his expression goes soft as he leans down to put his forehead to Bull's.

"My name is Clark. Your friend, Krem, came to get me to help you."

Krem is, for the moment, utterly ignored otherwise. He has a job to do.