Aziraphale had made a point of keeping an eye on Famine since the start of the pilgrimage. He knew on some level that the likelihood of him posing a real threat was low, because - well, he would be human, too, wouldn't he? Probably. And that was where Aziraphale became uncomfortable, because "probably not a Horseperson of the Apocalypse" really wasn't good enough for him, not in a wasteland surrounded by people of varying degrees of helplessness.

If there was a meaning to their presence in this world, too, he couldn't figure out how Famine would fit into it. He wasn't a - a person, per se, he was a construct, and therefore wouldn't be given an afterlife, because - what life?

In any case, he'd stayed just far enough away from the man to hopefully avoid suspicion, while staying close enough that he could intervene in some way should a spontaneous Apocalypse sprout up at Famine's feet, or people started losing an unusual amount of weight. What he would do about it if something did occur, of course, he hadn't the faintest idea.

Glancing in the direction Famine was pointing, Aziraphale frowned. Would he go that way? Would he even be interested enough to investigated? Aziraphale wasn't sure. It was so hard to read him, although he got the feeling that was not a new phenomenon.