“So I see,” Handy acknowledged, noticing the two large chickens roasting on a spit over a small fire pit he had set up. Handy was grateful the bird had the sense of mind to move the more flammable objects in the tent and to open up the buttoned-over skylights in the tent canvas above them so that the smoke wouldn’t smother them. His stomach growled, and the worries he had that night were seemingly forgotten in favour of imagining the taste of proper food. “Where hast thou been all day? Where are the others?”