It says something about how eager Maine is to get out of the weather that he doesn't pause to assess the new arrival. Granted, the massive Freelancer rarely feels threatened by anyone, but certain aspects of training are hard to shake. Instead, when he hears the rattling of logs, all the attention he gives it is a quick glance backward.

Someone hauling a decent-sized armful of wood. Looks like they're heading the same direction he is. Might be going to the inn; might live nearby. Doesn't matter to Maine.

That done, the big man continues on — right up until he hears those logs close in and a voice shaking with cold greet him.

It's not often that people have the guts to approach Maine. They stop and stare at him in public, sure, but they leave him to his business. Whether that's because of his height, his build, his silence, or some combination of all three, Maine doesn't know. Doesn't care, either, so long as they don't bother him.

But this person approached. This person walked up in the middle of a fucking snowstorm to say, "Hey." Not boggling at his size or asking for anything, just ... greeting him.

What the hell?

It's unusual enough that Maine pays attention. He pauses in his trek and turns to look at the much shorter man, dark eyes cast in shadow by the brim of his hat. A low grunt of acknowledgment is all the greeting that Maine gives — and then he waits, steadfastly ignoring the wind biting at his back. Curious to find out what this stranger wants.