His own experienced eye has sized her up in a few measured looks, and though he can't verify it just yet, his call's pretty damn accurate. Squire might not mean much in Maine's context, but it touches on the main points: combatant, experienced, but still with room to learn. Always learning.

When he turns his own attention back to the food, Brigitte steals her own opportunity to sneak an assessing glance at the man, now that she's not floundering quite so much. Scars on his own knuckles that look worse than her own, and the spoon practically dwarfed in his hand. The kind of muscle that looks like it gets regular use and isn't just for vanity, which does seem to hint: warrior. Rigid lines in his shoulders and neck.

But at least he's eating. And he's already pretty much dried off in front of the fire (that clean-shaven head means there isn't much to dry), and Brig supposes that's as safe a spot as any to leave a new arrival. She could, perhaps, go get her own food now and finally give the poor man some peace.

"Anyway, I'll let you finish up," she says, finally rising from her seat. "If you have any questions, feel free to ask anytime. I know that the first few days, they can be... rough."

That's one way of putting it.