"Unfriendly, aggressive, xenophobic... gee, I wonder where I've met people like that before." He paused as they began to scale the mountain proper, looking up at the distant peak. Curious, he thought, that had the mountain been flat, they'd have been able to make it that far in less than a couple of hours. Such was the advantage of verticality. He reached for the strap of his rifle, and grimaced faintly at remembering that he had left it with the Growler. If the Runner leadership were as hostile as she'd warned then marching in with his mother's gun on full display wouldn't be wise. The pistol and hatchet worried him less, and he was sure if push came to shove he could convince them to be returned.<br/><br/>He hadn't answered her question right away, but when she paused to dig a jacket out of her pack he sighed softly. "I can't be sure. Max... anyone who scavenges corpses can't be trusted. I'm worried less about him dying, more about him pretending to be a Strider and getting someone else into trouble for it. That said, I hope he made it to River. We need everything to go right that we can." He started up once she'd got her coat in place, leading the way up the rocky path. "Shelter or not, I think you'll be surprised what the Old World could provide. The tent I packed will keep us warm even if we're caught in a blizzard in the open. Just stay close, keep your eyes peeled for a good flat space. We've got... mm... two hours before dark starts in on us, I'd wager." He looked up at the rocks above and wondered if they were already being watched and judged. He took a deep breath, his exhalation coming out as thin steam. Let them judge. He would be found worthy or die trying.