[To be fair, he's Reira's pink freeloader. Well, he does work, but still — he's sort of a freeloader. They're all freeloaders in Reira's hobbit hole.]

[He's clearly uncomfortable with what she's saying, and he equally clearly understands it. She's right, he knows it, but . . . it seems wrong somehow, being the cause of her physical discomfort along with everything else. This really shouldn't happen again. That is, it shouldn't escalate to this point again. This is just more proof of that. They can't be losing sleep over each other.]

. . . You're right. I'm sorry, then. For making you that upset.

[He holds up a hand.]

I won't say anything else about it! But you can't stop me from apologizing.

[Tucking the bag of pastries under his arm and clutching the thermos to his chest, he scoots to the edge of the little bowl that the tree's branches make and holds out his hand to her.]

Come on. Let's go home. You can rest, and the next time we talk it can be about something more pleasant. [A beat.] So, literally anything else.