Wyatt held up a hand, waving for Max to keep it, before lifting the heavy bag and slipping it on. He pulled the quiver on over top - if he stayed to the one side of Max, the arrows would be in easy reach - then dragged up the last of the supplies he'd stolen from the Cornucopia.

The heavy jug of peanut butter.

"How's yer leg?" he asked, passing the jug to his other hand so he could up his spear again.

He'd noticed the limp, and though he knew Max wouldn't want to talk about, wouldn't want to admit it was giving him trouble, Wyatt knew that had to.

"I prefer the trees to the grass, if given the choice between 'em, but I'd like to press on, see what else there is if yer up for it."