Resting their chin on a fist, a more casual pose than usual, in no small part because of how exhausting fighting all that water was, Soldat watches Rosinante around the edges. Eyes on the side of his face, his shoulder, his messy hair. "You told me about your father. The one in the military. And your young friend from the memory. Are there others you miss, too?" Two people is already good, especially given how sweet that memory had been. Soldat's people to miss are all dead, but hearing about someone else's might be good.