"Well, it's appreciated then." He gives the bottle a dubious second-glance, a kind of beggars can't be choosers, especially standing in strange houses, in strange canyons, wearing oversized hand-me-downs and a blanket. He tips the bottle back again.

"So, were you hoping I'd drink myself to sleep here, or back at the inn?" The look he manages toward Jax isn't even very arch: fun Kira went face-down in the snow about a week ago, and hasn't yet come in from the cold.