“Thanks,” said Catskill. Her brain must’ve slipped into autopilot, because she certainly wasn’t caring much for politeness at the moment. Both the paper and the matches were still dry. Magic, Catskill supposed. She spread the paper throughout the log pile and tried a match. She was shaking a little from the chill, so she broke the first match, but the second caught. Soon, a fire was burning merrily in the fireplace. The wood wasn’t too smoky, thankfully, and what smoke there was went up the chimney unimpeded.