It helps, he thinks, that he had grown up a ways away from the lights and noise of the city and around a dad who didn't do much for kicks other than hunt or fish or get drunk at poker games. Fire-building without matches and learning to set rudimentary traps are just the sort of things he and Nick had fun with as kids what feels like a lifetime ago, neither of them thinking they'd ever really need to. But few ever do.

Zevran's not like any survivor he's ever met; he doesn't just scrape his way from one day to the next out here, he thrives. But Luke, knowing what little he does about him, realizes it isn't all that surprising. After all, Zev's been a survivor from before the dead refused to stay dead - and he never had the luxury of fire-building and learning to set rudimentary traps just for shits and giggles.

It's thanks to one of his traps that they've got themselves some squirrel for dinner, which means they can save the last couple cans of green beans in his backpack for a rainier day. It's risky building a fire in the hearth of the cabin they've been hunkering down in the past week, but fuck it -- it's their first taste of meat in a while and he's willing to wait for it to cook over a dim flame even if it's fucking torture sitting close enough to watch it crackle and drip with glistening fat.

"Look, I hate to be that guy, but... is it done yet? 'cause it's smellin' plenty done to me."