He does hear her approach, of course, though it takes a few minutes to recognize his fellow night wanderer as Èowyn; he assumes at first is is someone sent to fetch him back from the wall. But there is a trick to her footstep, to her breathing, that he recognizes, and knowing she will be coming to join him he does not turn until she is next to him.

"It is night," he points out, not without amusement; but he sighs a little almost at once, looking back over the city. "But you are right. I have been told that last night was darker yet, all the sky covered with some foul miasma of the Enemy. I fear I did not remark it at the time, being...otherwise distracted. But this--"

He looks out at the dark horizon, gestures towards it with a nod of his head. "This is drear indeed, but I would judge no worse than the last visage of winter. Or such is my hope." He sighs a little and rubs his forehead, which aches. His eyebrows ache, which ought to be impossible. "Perhaps I blind myself; I know not."

Faramir looks at her with a sudden, near-sheepish smile. "Pay me no mind, lady; I am tired, that is all. How went your meeting?"