Food on offer here fluctuates between feast or famine. The game have returned recently, thankfully, but he's learned in the past few months they can't really count on that lasting very long. The Doctor's never had to hunt or gather his own food like this before; he's actually never really had much of a need to eat before. His physiology being what it is — or was — he didn't tend to need much in the way of sleep or food. That all changed when he arrived here, his body nearly as vulnerable as any human's. But he's learned, of course, he's adapted. He's familiar enough with flora and fauna on Earth to forage and gather food successfully. The hunting is still — it's not him. But he makes do.

He at least has food to share with Arthur, and while the tea brews, he comes towards the other man, offering a small plate of jerky, fresh berries, and some crackers just on the edge of being too stale.

At the question — "That, uh —" His eyes soften, darken a bit. "It was — absolutely tragic. I wasn't among the very first to arrive here from another place, but I've heard of what happened. The first interlopers, they found what I assume were almost all of the original residents dead, their bodies scattered in the frozen ground." There's more to tell, of course, but though the Doctor can easily chatter on extensively, he has the good sense not to pile on an abundance of details all at once. And while he lets that settle, he starts searching in a small closet in the hallway for some bandages.