Having stood to draw the ratty scruff of a great furry cloak up out of the open chest, Dick turns to look back at her with it in his hands. He’s always been rawboned, but is especially so now for the cold, elbows pinned in at his sides, not enough hair on him to keep a shiver out of his breath.

“I’m not sure Rifters have time to waste.”

He says so very reasonably.

Time taken up by engaging with Byerly Rutyer notwithstanding.