Arthur listens impatiently; at another time, on another day, he'd be interested in these cultural details, but here and now it feels like time-wasting. He looks behind himself at one point, thinking he heard a noise inside the cabin and turning his ear to check-- but it's nothing, there's nothing. He turns back to the gap in the door.

The sadness that breaks through Nobunaga's steely voice, though? That reaches him.

Quietly: "Me, too. He's..."

Arthur struggles for a moment, not because there's nothing to finish that sentence, but because there's too much. He spends a lot of time thinking about Crichton, both the broad strokes and the small details, embarrassing and sad and good memories and where they might go from here.

"He's a good man." A beat. "I'm... I hope you're all right. I-I could have cushioned the news a little more than I did."