He kissed her back, full and soft, and hoped that she was right. For all he knew he did well, there was a side of him that could only be described as dark. He sighed as he lay himself down and indulged in more physicality, hugging and kissing and touching her. He allowed himself to indulge for a while, but after another hour or two he couldn't bear to lay still. He broke away from her only reluctantly and explained he was going to just do a patrol around the wall and through town, to ensure everything was quiet and calm. He pulled his armor on, then his belt with hatchet and pistol on either hip before he went out.<br/><br/>Little Lake was still peaceful as he went along his patrol. The lanes and paths were quiet, still wet from the rain of the day before, and the population was silent in the wake of the funeral. A handful of the individuals that were outside glanced up as he passed and favored him with nods or waves. Others turned away, or hurried back inside. One, a younger man, approached him outright to thank him for looking after Malia. The interaction was strained on the boy's part--Carson suspected that he had gotten in the way of a budding crush, but the boy was mature enough to take the high ground rather than make up reasons to hate him. He wondered if the boy was a crow, too--a Land Runner.<br/><br/>His patrol took him around the entirety of the wall, and he paused at his former shack to check and see if there was anything else he'd want to bring back to the house but found nothing. What did give him pause was the hole in the wall, partially obscured by a pair of thick bushes on the interior side. He knelt to inspect the tracks in the dirt under the breach and was hardly surprised to see that the ones left from the day of his arrival had been entirely washed away by the rain. He made out Malia's prints, once out and once back in, from when she'd collected the knife. He stepped just outside the wall, following her trail for a few steps, and paused when he saw a much larger bootprint--or rather, a pair of them. Someone wearing soft-sole leather shoes had approached the hole and stood contemplating it long enough to leave deep tracks.<br/><br/>He couldn't say why he moved when he did. Maybe it was a slight sound, or a movement in the shadow of the trees. Maybe he just had that finely-honed of a survival sense. Either way, he dropped and rolled to the side as an arrow flew through the air he'd been standing in, thudding into the dirt. He drew his pistol as he stood again, eyes wide and locked on the trees. Carson stepped slowly sideways and back, toward the hole, firearm raised and safety off. Nothing moved, save the wind-blown leaves and branches. The shadows were still. Carefully, without lowering his eyes or his pistol, he knelt to pick up the arrow, and backed through the hole. As quickly as he could he threw the arrow into the dirt, point-first, then rushed back to the shack. One of the guards looked over as he holstered his weapon and sized up the side panel.<br/><br/>"Excuse me, sir? Is everything alright?" he asked, gripping his spear tight. Carson glanced at the man incredulously.<br/><br/>"No," he said shortly, then seized the side panel and heaved. The nails that had driven it into the wooden frame screeched and tore free as the panel came loose, and he hurried back to the hole, the panel held over his head as he went. He slammed it down into the dirt hard enough to bury it in the ground on either side of the breach, then he pulled his hatchet from his belt. The butt end was round and mostly flattened, not unlike a hammer, and he used it to drive the remaining nails into the wall. The guard from before had followed Carson, and blinked as the Strider hammered the hole shut.<br/><br/>"How long as that been there, sir?" he asked, and Carson glanced back at him as he stepped away. He shook his head.<br/><br/>"Too long. We'll need additional reinforcement. Is there a place where building supplies are kept? Spare metal, lumber, things like that?"<br/><br/>"Uh," the guard said uncertainly, and Carson nodded.<br/><br/>"That's what I thought. Just let the mayor know about this--quickly." The guard swallowed thickly and hurried off to follow the burly Strider's instruction, and Carson turned back to the arrow he'd left. He pulled it out of the ground again and inspected the shaft. A small piece of vine had been wrapped around it, close to the feathers, securing a piece of soft bark. He tugged it free and read the note that had been written on it, then carefully rolled it back up an started on his way back to the house. His mind was turning all over again. He allowed himself a brief, tired smile--so much for a simple, quiet day off.