maggie can’t imagine how difficult it must be, granted he still had his leg but still it was something that held him back from from a quick escape if need be. the thoughts of her father could not be pushed aside as he follows her to where she’d been hiding out, it’s nothing special, just a small shed behind the bushes.
she shakes her head, ’ there ain’t no need to be sorry about him, he was bit… so the first thing that was done ’ — she swallows hard, that was a hard day. ’ was to cut it off, he made it. ’ of course, being without him now should make it clear that he hadn’t survived.
after making sure the door is secure in place, she set the hunting rifle down besides her bag and immediately searched for a can. once one is pulled out, it’s given to him. ’ don’t worry ‘bout it. ’ she didn’t want to take his stuff, she felt bad enough for being caught aiming at him.
"--Oh. Well... sorry." For being sorry -- because that's all he can think to say, on that matter. Yet he still can't help but feel it a bit, despite her wishes, for he knows how it's like to live a day-to-day life without the use of one of his legs. The only difference being Tim has done it for as long as he can remember.
He tries his best to keep up with her strides without tiring himself or making her slow down, something he likes to find a happy medium in for convenience sake. Though he's all the more happy when he's able to get off his legs for a little while -- slowly easing himself onto the floor and laying his own bag as well as the single crutch down at his side.
"--Just... take a look when we're done, okay? Please? Even if you don't actually claim anything for yourself." A hand grasps the tin offered to him, and he gives a small nod of thanks. "It'll make me feel better knowing I at least tried to help you out."









