As far as Maine's concerned, its relative lack of people is the North Village's primary appeal. He's used to living in close quarters with strangers; it's part and parcel of military life. But those strangers were ones whose loyalties Maine knew. They weren't his friends, but they were his fellow soldiers. The people around here, on the other hand, are entirely unknown.

Maine nods in acknowledgment. He's more adept at killing aliens (and people) than animals, but he's not a complete novice. And, at the end of the day, killing is killing.

"Hike's not bad," he notes — which certainly says something about what the space marine is accustomed to. It would be an easier trek if it weren't snowy out, he thinks. Speaking of which:

"Always cold?"

It might be an odd question. Most places have variation and seasons, after all. But some planets are just fucking cold more or less year round. For all Maine knows, this might be one of them.

He hopes it's not. That would fucking suck.