Logan remains standing by the fire, watching her work and admiring her pot-spit creation. Kid did that while injured and scared in a place that was falling apart at the seams.

At her question he glances back into the shadows that surround them. The itch of being watched seems to flare a little at the back of his neck, but the promise of claws and teeth has gone.

"I think you're right, kid. Maybe we ain't the kind of prey it wants." He rolls his shoulders and grimaces as his muscles crack. Too long on the edge, without sleep. Even he can't run forever. He remembers the jerky Ellie gave him and pulls it out. Gestures with it to her pack.

"Don't suppose you got any beer in there?"