"Whatever you gotta say for your pride, I gotcha." She winks, and begins pouring bottles of water into an otherwise empty copper pot, which she lifts and settles on the rudimentary spit over the fire. It doesn't turn; it just holds things. It seems to be made mostly of fire irons and pokers, shoved into the ground and in some places taped together.

After a moment of consideration (and making sure the pot holds), she sits back. "I don't think the thing here is gonna attack us," she says. "If it hasn't yet, it's not gonna. What d'you think?"