"They weren't cowards, they just aren't heroes. They chose what was best for them, and to hell with everyone else. That's the Drifter way, though, isn't it?" Crimson, whom had been quiet all of yesterday, now deigned to speak. His voice was quiet, calm, and though cold, did not contain a harshness. He didn't seem to be belittling or chastising Amos, merely offering his own thoughts on why those that left had left. "And for the record, though I may be going along with you on this, I'm no hero, either."<br/><br/>Crimson spoke as he rose from his bedroll, and began to roll it back up. He seemed to have gone straight from being asleep to one hundred percent wakefulness, with no grogginess or sluggishness one might expect.<br/><br/>"Your hat probably blew away. It got windy. And if you want something good to eat, throw me a gella, and..." His voice drifted off as he would turn his attention to Amos, and what he was doing near a barrel.<br/><br/>"What's up, chief?" He'd ask as he began to walk over his way. Halfway there, he saw the contents of the barrel emptied out, and though he did actually recoil a bit, he seemed quick to recover himself. Without any apparent fear--or recognition of the other scent-- he approached the corpse, and started to look it over.<br/><br/>A few moments after Amos had said that he didn't have time for it, he would turn his attention to the older man. "If we end up finding another corpse like this come tomorrow morning, no matter where we are, then we need to make time to figure out what's going on." Because in Crimson's mind, that would mean that one of the Drifters they were traveling with was not what they seemed to be. And he didn't plan to end up a corpse any time soon.