The Freelancer stands back while Nida gets the door open. Cold as he is, he's not bothered by how long it may take; it would take even longer if either of them were to set the wood down.

Once the other man has managed the door, Maine ducks through the opening and into the inn. He steps aside quickly, not wanting to block Nida from entering — or from the critical task of shutting the door.

As the warm air hits his face, Maine lets out a quiet sigh, the corners of his lips twitch up in a slight smile. Damn, that feels good.

He'll let Nida lead the way to wherever the wood goes. The other man seems more familiar with this place. And besides, it's not Maine's wood.