He watches the movement with a deep wariness as York moves towards him, reaches out. Everything about him, rigid spine, the clasp of his hands at his sides near the knife, it screams danger, like an angry stray cat as likely to claw him up as submit to the touch. He doesn't attack when the hand lands on his shoulder, but he doesn't relax either.

"Nice words York." Because that's it, they're just words and he doesn't trust good intentions. Hasn't for a long time.

He looks around, down at the canyon below where York's things are still scattered around. He really needs to check in soon. This is going to get complicated, he can tell that already. "You can't stay here York. Sooner or later someone else will find you. The Feds have a pretty vicious merc on their side."