The ache for some form of companionship must have been the thread connecting what survivors remained. Megan wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth; he'd already set his gun out of reach, after all, leaving her with the advantage should she choose to take it.<br/><br/>Fortunately for them both, she was an honest woman. As honest as she was grounded. With a nod she accepted his gesture, and for the first time in awhile, cracked a small, lopsided grin. It was the relief kicking in, mostly, eliciting a slight sense of glee that she was going to live to see another day, as short-lived as that though might turn out to be. Mimicking his behavior she slowly pulled the pistol from her hip, only to set it on the floor beside her machete- followed by the knife in her coat pocket. And the switchblade tucked into her waistband.<i>And</i>the carving knife situated at her back.<br/><br/>She tossed each of the weapons into the growing pile. Megan had a crow's instinct to hoard the potentially useful items she came across, giving her a nice little collection of weaponry kept at her disposal. As a cherry on top, she fished the small hunting knife from her own boot, set it with the others, and dusted her hands off with a job well done. "That's all of them. I'm gonna leave them there- you can keep an eye on me. I'm not going to grab any of them."