Brigid catches the expression, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She turns to look at him, fully. "Did I say something wrong?" Brigid's voice is soft, gentle. She knows that she sometimes forgets the person behind the history. She has a tendency to go on, forgetting that real people lived those lives.

She keeps one hand on the fishing pole and puts one on his arm, offering just the barest of comforts, if he wishes it.