She knows way his brows furrow and when he ducks his head. She knows this is tiring as hell, and that it's like stumbling every single time its new words, new ideas, or even old ones. Sometimes even the same ones from the first day. But she doesn't pity him, or push him. Let's the frustration roll between them, until he does latch on to one of the words she said, and leads to him demonstrating the thing in his hand between them.

Watching his fingers, and the shadow it cast. Sundial. Definitely a sundial, then. Not that Jo knew much about those, except as artifacts and historical things. Things to keep track of time, the sun. Enough to make her wonder how much and how well it would help -- him? them? -- the situation. She didn't reach out to touch, but she nodded, adding as she did, "North. Same."

At least at home it had been. "Sun in the North."

Even if she felt dubious saying that like she had any faith in it.