The other man was so caught up in his pouting, that he had forgotten about his own rations; not even bothered with removing the uncomfortable, stiff brace around his middle. (Well, in a way, it was a comfort of its own.) He simply felt uninspired by this trip.

"It's cooler," Altair said. He finally sat up - perhaps spurred to action by the scent of Malik's bread - just to reach up into his horse's pack and pull out his own, wrapped in a thin cloth. He gracelessly dug his hand into the bundle, rather than peel back the cloth. "It's nice," he admitted.