Twelve Hours

Compared to the dress of the youths, the elders of Valiant Heart Mountain weren't dressed much differently at all. In fact, there were only two differences one could point out. 

The first was the color of their cloth belts. What dangled between their legs wasn't the black of the youths, but rather a striking red. At least, most of them wore this red as though dyed by centuries of blood. The old man that led them, though, wore one of copper, as though the blood that had once drenched his had rusted over with age. 

The second difference was a shawl draped over their shoulders. This matched the color of their cloth belts, giving them a more dignified appearance than the kids below. 

The old man's exposed torso was just as hollowed out as the pale young man from before. But, though his body seemed worn with age, his back was as straight as a javelin despite the fact he simultaneously used a walking stick.