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"You're just saying that because you're a heartless f*****t," he hissed, looking back off to where she had run. He knew that in some ways, Q was right to be angry but.. well.. the dog was the first thing that really made him happy in a long time.

In a long, long time.

And now she was gone, after only spending a short time with her, and all hopes of their Lassie and Timmy relationship gone with it. He sighed, exhaling with a grunt. "I can't believe you," he hissed. "How long is it going to be before you try to throw a knife at me?"

"Explain to me why you threw the knife at her, then, a*****e," he grunted, folding his arms tightly, knuckles still white from the stress. "Tell me how you rationalized throwing a damn knife at her with rationale that couldn't be turned on me." He tapped his fingers, tilting his head to the side by minute degrees, waiting for his response.

"I didn't feed Kaie," he lied. "She would have hunted out of necessity and instinct," he spat back. "And she had thusfar. There's no way of knowing how long she's been living out of a vault, but I know our vault was hte only one for miles and miles."

Isiah turned a deep red, unfolding his hands. He recognized the change in energy- he lived in a constant state of defense for long enough to know what it meant.

"That is the biggest crock of s**t I've ever heard, and that's a lot to say considering I've been hanging around with YOU so long."

"Because you're a d**k," he hissed, leaning over to pick up the duffel. He grabbed his can and hten the can of beef stew Q had foolishly decided not to open, zipping it shut with a yank. "And I'll tell you why once you tell me what the hell is your damn problem." He pulled on the duffel over his shoulder, heading off in their original direction without an order or pause in step for his comrade. Honestly he wanted some distance.

The conversation between them died after that, even for the few days that followed. Isiah followed a schedule, sure- stopping once dawn hit, eating midway through the evening, though he now opened all the cans for the other before setting them down for him. He didn't trust him with the knife anymore.

On the fifth day of Q's social exile, Isiah was out in front by a few paces, eyes squinting. He stopped in his tracks, speaking tersely. "You see what I see?"

Light. Firelight or candlelight in the distance, judging by the flicker, the unsteady quality of it. It was broken up by buildings of some sort- whether they were whole or not one couldn't say, but it was easy enough to see light reflecting off of other structures.

Isiah waited a moment longer, before starting off again, at a faster pace. He didn't bother waiting for Q's response, breaking into a jog after he heard the voices of people. He almost immediately disappeared into the settlement after asking a few quick questions of the 'natives' before running off to the fresh water.

A tall figure leaned against the outermost building- or at least, what there was left of it, a cigarette gleaming between his lips. He hadn't paid much attention to the first newcomer- they'd been showing up, in a steady stream, for a few weeks. He figured the food must have started running out. But the second- he saw a glint of his eyes, and was immediately interested. Green eyes watched as he came closer, puffing on his cigarette. "You look like you could use a good meal and a soft bed, friend," he began, wearing a slimy smile. He was dressed in a pair of threadworn wranglers, thin, cracked cowboy boots adorning his feet, a white undershirt and a leather jacket over his shoulders. Sure, he wasn't exactly going to win a fashion award, but compared to the other, ragged townsfolk he was dressed 'well'. He had more protection from the elements, anyway.

He stood at about six foot even, opening a palm to the other, slender arm reaching out to shake his hand should he offer it. "Assuming you'd be kind enough to accept my hospitality."

Cyrus chuckled, taking another long, slow, almost teasing puff on his cigarette, exhaling upward in a few short puffs. "Because I'm a gentleman," he said with a chuckle, his words punctuated by the last of his cigarette smoke. "And it's good karma to pass on what I got, so I will." He caught him eyeing the cigarette, pulling a rough carton from the inside of his jacket pocket. He opened it up for him, shrugging. "Hand rolled but I think they taste a lot better. You look like you could use one."

He paused, waiting to see if he'd take one, rolling his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other.

Cyrus shrugged, tucking the carton back into his coat, taking another quick puff on his cigarette. "Wasting time. Too hot to work during the day, wouldn't you say?" He exhaled smoke through his nostrils, pulling the cig from his mouth to tap off the ashes, fingers twitching. He was coming down from a three day meth binge, and in all honesty he hadn't felt like sleeping- at least not yet. He'd crash somewhere through tomorrow if his previous binges were any indication.

"Could ask the same of you. Fresh out of a vault somewhere, eh? Which one?"