That was an awkward meeting, but he got no answers for his trouble. The mare clearly did not know how Handy’s armour got the way it was. Ah well, shit happened, he guessed. He merely sighed and tightened the clasps of his cloak about his chest, his hand lingering there for a moment. The scar still ached from time to time, and the exertion he’d been inflicting on himself was probably not helping that. He grumbled as the rain pelted his cloak and the wind plucked at it. His mail clinked as he trudged back to the saloon. It would take some getting used to. He had expected that, but now his limited vision was made worse by the hood worn over his helmet. Still, it would have to do.