He'd mutter about a serviceable idea being useless if he wasn't more impressed by the press of emotions when they eventually come, let alone the associations that tie in with it all. He frowns, closing his eyes to better focus, and while red isn't the colour in specific, red is the colour of hurt, and pain, and things wrong, just as it's the sign of passion, of fire, of other things in his lifetime.

A preferred colour for him even now, tied into his hair, and visible nowhere else.

Concern for a home, and a hurt alongside it. He almost wishes he could share that pain, and some sense of that emotion might transfer back; pain is not something that stops him, embraced and endured and accepted as it is. However, as his eyes open, as the energy from the statue wanes, he considers its features.

"We're here to help with that pain. The red one?" He pauses, considers. "I wonder if it came from below... but the islands, North, West, South. The flying things, they help bring these bad energies here?"

To be fair, he doesn't expect to have answers in words, but it's one way for him to voice things in return, and to try, to some extent, to again offer from what energy he has to the statue. Not much, he's too aware of his limits, but something else offered freely.