He would never deny it - he was impressed with Orca. Not just with the progress she had made physically, growing up and filling out after her near death experience. Not even just with the progress she had made emotionally, recovering and putting herself back together. Those were both worthy of note and pride, but at that moment Hawthorn was considering how she had grown spiritually. He wasn't certain if part of it had been the influence of the Gypsy spirits she had grown up around - his own, included - and he sort of hoped it was. He had a feeling, though, that a large part of it was just something she had in her the whole time.

She spoke wisdom - ideas and images that he might have drawn from his own soul... but she worded them so much more eloquently than his bumbling self ever could. It was worthy of admiration and the smile that was almost always on his face then turned a good deal softer. He always feared she would be bored by his theorizing, but instead she would take it and expand on it. It was good to bounce ideas off of her, if only to see what reaction she would have and if she could better explain his own thoughts and guesses. Hawthorn was terrible at organizing his own mind.

His mouth twitched a little, as though he would be chewing on his lip if he were capable of it, and his eyes cast back out to those cavern entrances in the distance after she revised her question to him. His answer had been inadequate, he realized. He had grieved and he had felt sadness, yes, but she meant it in a specific way. The niece and nephew he had lost... had been tragic, but even that was different from what she intended. A special someone, a certain person just for you.

Though his brows furrowed over his eyes, made obvious by the white marks that pronounced his brows, none of that searching and grasping light ever faded from his cerulean blues. "I suppose, then... No. I have never had someone quite like that. My, ah... family has always held that spot in my heart. I am... sorry if I'm unable to relate, Miss Orca." The apology was heartfelt, as he wished he had something better to go on to bring some wisdom and a new light to her situation.

As it was, all he had was the humble compassion of an old Gypsy.

Orca came back to life, then, suddenly lighting up as a youthful beacon beside him in response to his rather eternal way of looking at living and dying. She sparkled, the renewed hope within her seeping out and lifting Hawthorn's own spirits. Just her grin, happy and optimistic again, was enough to return the thoroughly pleased, warm, and merry expression to his own face. He gazed down at her with a grin to match, though it was soft around the edges and his eyes held the usual tenderness that reflected his compassion for the world.

"Well, then... I'm, ah... glad that I can say something right at least... now and then," he was teasing himself, humble as usual. "... It is good to see you smile so brilliantly, Miss Orca... That brightens my day. Thank you."