He wonders if Roland is suddenly so enraptured by his task that he doesn't even hear him. A little awkward, but Tidus becomes okay with it. Roland is just like that apparently once he gets a pen in his hand--though, it's curious. A tradition, Roland called it. It must be a pretty important tradition--for more than just shipwrecked fellows--for him to get this quick into it.

But then Roland speaks, and Tidus understands better. Startled inwardly by the mention of a son (did Roland ever mention him before?), but then--the guy's old. He's probably got a son ad partner waiting for him back home, like some of the people here.

Tidus's features soften, his mouth dipping some, but not quite sad.

"Aren't you worried they won't reach them?" They won't, surely, not if they just toss them out in the sea here... and maybe it doesn't matter, it's about the process, but it's disappointing to think: letters to loved ones who'll never get to read them.