He doesn't think he's ever seen her with her hair down, and combined with the change in her usual clothing he's taken aback for a second. Only a second, though: because he sees that look on her face, sees the exhaustion, the wariness.

It would be enough to make him turn around, if he hadn't been set on going to tell her. He's here now.

He lightly clears his throat and nods, going over to the table to pour himself a dirnk-- he's never turned one down, and he isn't planning on starting now. But his eyes fall on the bowcaster before he can even get to the bottle, and he turns back around to look at her. "You got it."