He stays down for a moment when York moves away, watching him intently. It's only when he's out of reach that he pushes himself to his feet, moving warily, stiffly and never taking his gaze away from York. Just in case. He doesn't trust him. Doesn't trust anyone these days, and least of all himself.

"I'm going to grab my rifle. Then I'm leaving," he says, clipped tone, cold. "Go back to your camp. It gets cold here at night."