Beth is difficult not to notice in some ways -- young, slight, so out of place in a harsh environment like this, he thinks. (Little does he know.) Their group of arrivals is small enough that he had some opportunity to familiarize himself with all of them, at least enough to pick them out of a crowd; not that they don't all stand out, for the time being, in a strange mishmash of clothes and treated with wariness by the locals.

He's laying out his bedroll for something to do, not that he's quite sure he intends to sleep in here nor at all, when she speaks to him directly. Sharing a tent is unusual enough for him, and sharing it with women isn't entirely proper. Needs must, it'd seem, but still.

"Arthur," he says after a beat, and then reaches behind him for his blanket, offering it to her. Chivalry. "You must be cold."

It's a bit politer than saying you look like you're about to catch your death. But the sentiment is there.