He was sitting on a rock, fuming. That was the twenty third match he fumbled with so far. Tanismore was no addition to him and he’d be damned if he asked him for help anyway. Currently the bird was off relieving himself, and left Handy to his own devices in terms of getting the campfire going. It wasn’t too hard, in theory, he had a small bundle of sticks and twigs he had dried out and prepared to light and place beneath a larger collection of wood.