"Ya mean besides you?" Another mark and a familiar tangle of roots and a mound of dirt recently disturbed. Boot prints leading toward and away again. "Not yet."

Wyatt crouched and dug at the earth, hands turning dark as he pawed and revealed the bag and the containers he'd tied to it. The bow, still gleaming despite it's dirt bath.

He pulled the bag free, empty canteens clinking gently against one another, and brushed at it before pausing, looking up at Max, his brow furrowed with concern.

"To be honest, it kinda worries me. What if there ain't any? Maybe why there was so much there at the Cornucopia, because that's all there is."