Movement would catch her eye as a figure emerged from the shadows, wavered as one does when it is hard to focus, and came to as an older man. His body was adorned with a heavy coat, and worn blue jeans. The tired choice of clothing seemed heavier, and had improvised armoring on and in them, dented and scratched from conflicts past. His green eyes caught hers, the quid of tobacco in his cheek quivering as it was chewed, then with a seemingly heruculean noise, he turned his head and spat into the dark. Two holsters hugged his hips, each holding a .45 with heavier frame and longer barrel, judging by the altered holsters, and a pack straddled his back, a hunting rifle strapped to it. He crouched down, and gestured to her wounds