Connie wouldn't fault Bertolt if he was armed, honestly. He himself found it hard to walk around without anything on hand. It wasn't like he had a gun or knew how to use one even if he did, so he liked to keep near whatever it was that made him feel safe at the time.

"Sure, man. Thanks."

He gave one last run through his hair, almost certain he'd gotten everything, but he'd slept in a tree more than once over the past two weeks and he always spent the next days finding a leaf or two that slipped past his notice. It couldn't hurt. Plus, he'd been reminded more than once that day that accepting a friends help every so often would hurt even less.