"Huh."
The small grunt of agreement was all Ambrose gave in response to Sawyer's answer to his question. The other man didn't seem too interested in his own story, or keen on elaborating, so there was no need to spend energy on asking why, or claiming that his own reasons were similar. Plenty of people felt that way about life out on the east coast, after all. Nothing new or special about it, as far as anyone could tell.
He paused beside Sawyer at the top of the hill, looking down at him. "You sure you're fine?" he asked, as he seemed quite self-evidently to not be fine. He'd been clumsy on the way up, and was now getting sick on their expected campsite. "Yeah, we said we'd rest anyway. Go on, take a seat."
Except he was already laying down, seemingly not caring whether Ambrose agreed to rest or not. Seemed safer to stay together though, take shifts sleeping so the main danger would be each other. He draped a blanket - though admittedly a threadbare one, dirty from the fall and the journey - over the other man. There wasn't wood out here for a fire, and it would be better to spare supplies if they found themselves somewhere colder, so he went without for now.
Instead, he sat down a few feet from where Sawyer lay, opening up the waterskin and getting some of the food they'd brought along. Not a full meal - they had to save plenty for both of them - but a snack to tide him over for now. He hadn't had much appetite anyway, after the afternoon's disaster. As he ate, he watched the sun set, red claiming the sky where it had been blue before, then the silver of dusk overtaking that before fading into the dark sky of nighttime. Peaceful, but more silent than he was used to.
It had seemed, in the woods out east, there had always been the sounds of insects chirping, only the species themselves changing with the time of day. In the plains and deserts out here, the sounds were different, but ever present. But now, on this hill, it was eerily silent.