He squeezed her waist as she straddled him and kissed her back, his head falling flat as she pushed herself up and off. His cheeks pinked as he watched her strap on the harness, and he got up himself to start replacing his own gear. He stopped at his coat when she requested his hand, allowing her to change the bandages. The bruising on his arm looked nastier than ever, but would heal over the next couple of days. "A day... maybe longer. If we do tangle with the Huntsmen I want to do so with both hands intact."<br/><br/>Carson didn't respond to her comment about the Growler. He didn't want to consider leaving it behind. The tent, he could bear, but not the Growler. He climbed out with her once he'd got his coat on and nodded at her assessment. "We've got most of the day, and hopefully this snow won't last all the way down. I'm sure it won't. We'll make it off the mountain by nightfall, easily." The howling made him pause, but he didn't let it unnerve him. Instead he took her hand and pulled her along, walking close to the inside face of the path, where the snow was relatively shallow.<br/><br/>They walked for another hour and a half before it began to thin out, and two hours after that they were nearly entirely free of the snow. He'd let her hand go for the more difficult patches of descent, but once they were on the bare rock again he reached out to hold it again. "If it came down to it," he asked, looking out in what he thought was the direction they'd left the bike in, "do you think you could drive with some teaching? You've seen me do it, and most of the trick is learning how to lean into the turns without overbalancing or panicking." Even driving, they had a two-day trip back to the bunker. Without the Growler it would be twice that, at best estimate.