"Sweet, a new friend." He said, before turning, "I'ma head out, find some stuff." He said, unsheathing a newly made cobblestone blade, exitting the defense of the shelter, wandering off, slaughtering pigs. Having enough on him for bartering, he'd come upon a small town. Raising his eyebrow, he found a trader, and walked home with sixteen iron ingots, and a pair of shades. "Anyone else think we got a bit lucky?"