There’s something dry in the stretch of his silence, a tilt at his head that kinks the grass beneath it. A few blades spring back to tickle through the wedge missing out of his ear.

“I knew it was ill-advised.”

Brother Gideon didn’t even have to tell him so explicitly and in no uncertain terms.

Whatever Look he’s giving her, he vanishes it behind the curtain of her hat reset to lie flat across his face. In there, he can trade fresh salt air for privacy and protection for his ginger constitution.

“Are you going to tell me yours?” He asks on a delay. Muffled.