[ Truth be told, Hodgson looks absolutely terrible, but then again, precious few of them hadn't by the end even as Irving knew it— so many once healthy men turned to ragged, shambling shells of themselves by the savage conditions alone, long before much illness and injury had yet gotten involved.

All the same, Irving is sorry to be seeing him this way. As with Little, he'd hesitate before assuming that he and Hodgson are proper friends, exactly (how forward and inappropriate that would be, particularly with a ranking superior!), but they'd always gotten on rather well with each other, and Irving had enjoyed his company.

He extends an arm out as if reaching to help Hodgson to his feet, except the other man already is standing, and has been, so Irving lets his arm drop again awkwardly, feeling a familiar sting of shame and embarrassment that he can't be just a bit more like Edward Little— that he can't simply let himself embrace the other man in joy of their reunion, can't take his arm or grasp his shoulder. ]

Y-you look...

[ No, that's a bad place to start; cold and hungry is already a given, and out of sorts feels close enough. Irving shakes his head and starts again: ]

W-well— at any rate, let's get you indoors, [ he hastens to add, speaking in a breathless rush, ] Believe me when I say that this is no place for lingering after dark.