Carson watched her leave, frowning to himself. The girl was smarter than any common townsperson he'd encountered in a long while. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that it wasn't his fault that her brother had died--nor was it hers.<i>It wasn't my fault when mother died. She told me so herself. She made me say the words.</i>He tightened his grip on the strap and forced himself to walk. The mayor had to be further debriefed, the guards tested, the town's safety ensured. He had a lot of work to do if he were to leave this town on its own once more.<br/><br/>Hours passed, and he endured the rain when it came, forcing the men on duty to do the same as they showed him what little they knew of self defense. The town had a single powerful firearm, an old shotgun that Carson recognized. A powerful and potent deterrent, but nobody knew how to maintain or even load the weapon. He took them to task, showing them how to load, aim, and discharge, forcing them to do it until he was satisfied and they were surely resentful. He took the gun back to his shack to tend to it along with his own, firing up a pair of heat lamps as he got to work--one for himself, and one for his discarded overcoat. As night began to fall he was properly exhausted, on the verge of passing out, but he wasn't ready to sleep yet. Instead he put on another can of soup, a different flavor than before, and stepped out under the tiny awning in front of his shack to get some fresh, albeit wet air.<br/><br/>That was when he spotted Malia. One eyebrow arched up as he saw her beneath the tree, though he wasn't sure of who or even what it was at first. His hand dropped to the hatchet at his hip as he advanced through the pattering rainfall, ignoring the fresh soaking that ran through his hair and shoulders. When he realized who it was he swore under his breath, and rather than speak or ask any questions he simply picked her up. She weighed almost nothing, even soaking wet, and he was quick to return her to his shack. His instinct was to remove her wet clothes, but some laws of society remained. Instead he lay out his mostly dry coat on the bed and then lay her on it, at which point he turned both heat lamps on her. He sat back down at his workbench, scrubbing water out of his hair as he sighed. "This town doesn't seem inclined to give you a break," he muttered, more to himself than to her.