Freya took the strap on the rifle and slung it onto her back before placing her foot on the very edge of the roof, peering down at the strange man which now called up from across the street. His hair was indeed easy to spot and the current weather wasn't making it any less easy. And she would know, for her own hair had a bright response to the sun. Her eyes narrowed a little at the warning of being killed, her hand resting gently against the hilt of her nine millimetre which sat strapped to her outer thigh. "Large groups get you killed, and I'm not interested in being dragged down by the mistakes of others" she replied, her tone surprisingly soft despite her accent giving away her origins, being born in England and having moved to Pittsburgh shortly before the outbreak.