He looks down at the table, then back at her, shaking his head as his shoulders rise in a slow shrug.

"That it's good enough. Time enough for the men to recover from the march, but not to get too restless. Time for me to return to lead them. Time for you to prepare." To eat a meal, to sleep more than an hour or two. It seems imprudent to say so as bluntly as that, but her eyes are hollow, and everything she does seems labored. "Will we have supper?"

The execution has left him with little appetite -- little and less -- but it might be that she will eat something if he's with her.